Prisoners' Families, Emotions and Space 9781447358145

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PRISONERS’ FAMILIES, EMOTIONS AND SPACE Maria Adams

First published in Great Britain in 2022 by Policy Press, an imprint of Bristol University Press University of Bristol 1–​9 Old Park Hill Bristol BS2 8BB UK t: +​44 (0)117 374 6645 e: bup-​[email protected] Details of international sales and distribution partners are available at policy.bristoluniversitypress.co.uk © Bristol University Press 2022 British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library ISBN 978-1-4473-5812-1 hardcover ISBN 978-1-4473-5813-8 ePub ISBN 978-1-4473-5814-5 ePdf The right of Maria Adams to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved: no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise without the prior permission of Bristol University Press. Every reasonable effort has been made to obtain permission to reproduce copyrighted material. If, however, anyone knows of an oversight, please contact the publisher. The statements and opinions contained within this publication are solely those of the author and not of the University of Bristol or Bristol University Press. The University of Bristol and Bristol University Press disclaim responsibility for any injury to persons or property resulting from any material published in this publication. Bristol University Press and Policy Press work to counter discrimination on grounds of gender, race, disability, age and sexuality. Cover design: Robin Hawes Front cover image: istockphoto.com –​AlexLinch Bristol University Press and Policy Press use environmentally responsible print partners. Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

To Zara, She is Strong She is Fearless She is Enough.

Contents About the author Acknowledgements

vi vii

1 Introduction: Getting in and setting the scene

1

2

Feminist geographies and carceral perspectives

15

3

The artificial home space: place of care or place of confinement?

28

4

Regulated spaces

49

5

Spatialities of waiting

68

6

Surviving the incarceration process: resilience to time

89

7

Families’ voices: creating a platform for families’ lives

103

References Index

114 128

v

About the author Maria Adams is Senior Lecturer in Criminology at the University of Surrey. She has published in many journals, including Punishment and Society, the British Journal of Criminology, the European Journal of Criminology, and Ethnic and Racial Studies. She is currently a principal investigator for two research projects on food in women’s prisons, as well as developing a family engagement model with youth offending services.

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Acknowledgements This book is based on a PhD dissertation titled: ‘ “We are living their sentence with them…”: How prisoners’ families experience life inside and outside prison spaces in Scotland’. I am forever grateful for my participants that trusted me to share their stories. Without them, this research would not have been possible. Also, thank you to my PhD supervisors for their support in getting me to the finish line in my PhD. I would like to thank my publishers from Policy Press including Rebecca Tomlinson and Freya Trand for their support and patience in the completion of this book. I am also very grateful for the anonymous readers’ constructive feedback. I would like to thank my colleagues and friends at the University of Surrey for their support over the last several years. They have inspired and provided continual guidance during my career as an academic in particular Vicki Harman, Jon Garland, and Dan McCarthy. A special thanks to my family and friends for their encouragement and continual support including my mother, father, brother, and sister. Special thanks to my friend Jasmin, who lifted me up through the hard times and laughed with me during the best times. Also, thank you to my other friends who have been an anchor of support and are always on hand for a glass of wine, including Eva, Claire, Clare, Lindsey, Helen, and Jindi. This book is dedicated to my niece, Zara Amari Adams.

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1

Introduction: Getting in and setting the scene As I started to write this in March 2020, we were in the midst of the COVID-​19 pandemic. For society, this pandemic created a sense of fear: fear of the uncertainty; fear of the known; and fear of death. For many families of prisoners, these fears were intensified with the ‘not knowing’ of what was going on inside the prison. The government implemented changes to the prison system aimed at ensuring minimal contact with the outside world in response to COVID-​19. This included no more educational and recreational activities, and all prison visits were cancelled until further notice. Consequently, all those imprisoned were confined to their cells for up to 23 hours a day. These drastic decisions led to many families feeling overwhelmed with sadness and desperation to find other ways of seeing their family members in prison. However, there were no alternatives to ensure contact still carried on between those in prison and their families. This precaution was short-​sighted but with long-​term consequences that would have devastating effects on prisoners and their families. There were discussions undertaken by policymakers and grassroots organisations to implement video technology as an alternative means of maintaining contact between prisoners and their families. But the slow uptake of video technology has demonstrated the lack of progress prisons have made in finding a way to replace face-​to-​face contact in circumstances like the pandemic. In early July 2020, there were signs of hope with some prisons starting to connect back with the outside and to facilitate contact between prisoners and their families. However, only a small proportion of families were allowed to use the visiting room and then under very strict distancing guidelines. Feelings of affection and the need to care were absent as visits became even more sterile for prisoners and their families. In the absence of not seeing loved ones for months on end, families of prisoners were still left with the bleak uncertainty of being left in the dark. In summer 2021, we started to see changes indicating a return to normality and there has been some development in the organisation of prison visits through the means of social distancing practices, but consequently there has still been a reduction in the number of people visiting and stricter rules about contact between prisoners and their families. Now that we have entered 2022, there is some glimmer of hope for a new normal, however, there is still a wave 1

Prisoners’ Families, Emotions and Space

of uncertainty for many families regarding how their loved ones are coping during the pandemic with educational activities downsized and restrictions placed on visits. Drawing on an ethnographic study in Scotland, this book will examine the emotional landscape of family relationships during their loved ones’ imprisonment, focusing on prison visits as a key site of connection but also potential tensions. The core themes will be to explore families’ experiences and interrelationships in the context of the prison spaces and to interconnect this with public spaces, such as welfare, social services, and in the home. This book will explore how both penal and public spaces have had a significant impact on igniting certain emotions that emerge from psychological and social hardships. The content of this book provides a unique standpoint by exploring this from a geographical perspective to understand how institutional spaces can have an impact on the individual and will delve into the experiences of families both in the penal space and the home. As I walked into a prison visiting room for the first time, the initial thing I noticed were the tables and chairs. They were aligned in an orderly fashion with three chairs facing one. The material of the chairs was dingy green, and something I believe had not been replaced for many years. As I entered the prison, I noticed that I did not enter the visiting room the same way as the families. Rather, I approached the back door that bypasses the security room to collect my keys; then I went up the stairs and walked straight down the passage. I opened the door and found myself in the visiting room; the door I entered was opposite the entrance for the families. The floors smelled of bleach and the air tasted musty. It was a basic room with little decoration and only a vending machine as a facility for food for family members. I headed towards the play area where I set up with my manager, a Glaswegian woman, a campaigner who had tirelessly run this initiative by herself on limited financial resources. I began my research journey as a volunteer at HMP Shawshank and volunteered at a prison to coordinate the play area in the visiting room; at the same time, I started my interest in exploring the families of prisoners. My main role as a volunteer was to coordinate and assist in running the play area. The play area can be described as the light in a dark space, with the intention of being family friendly and decorated with a range of colours and toys it resembled to a degree a ‘nursery space’. At the beginning of every session, I carefully placed the toys in the play area and started to observe the movement of prison staff entering and leaving the visiting room space. This space is pivotal for research as it ties the bonds of those from the outside with those imprisoned on the inside. I observed that the space was a feeding ground for a range of emotions. For me, it was excitement as well as anxiety; this was unfamiliar territory, a space that was closed off from an outside audience. As the families entered, there were 2

Introduction

male and female prison officers to search each visitor. You could observe the discomfort exhibited by families, as prison officers patted down families before sitting. Families would walk briskly towards the vending machine, which only sold sandwiches and snacks. Then, there was a sigh of relief as the men entered the room; as the children screamed proudly “daddy”; and as many of the partners felt a sense of relief for the temporary period of seeing their loved ones. Most of the families were White, and many families consisted of partners, parents of prisoners, friends, and extended family. Many mothers/​wives would use the play area as a respite and to spend some quality time with their loved ones in prisons. Most young children were confused in the space they had entered, and we were pre-​warned not to use language such as ‘prison’, as many families chose to not disclose to their children the whereabouts of the other parent. The play area became a symbol for families and symbolised a place for children to escape and to feel safe with familiar surroundings similar to the home, that is, toys, art on the walls, and the living room decor. Many parents needed to have a safe space for their children to escape to during the times it became intense or heated with prisoners and their loved ones. The word ‘escape’ is pivotal to understanding the set up for families visiting loved ones, where forms of escape are apparent for many family members trying to survive the imprisonment process. My experience in the play area transformed my insights about conducting an ethnographic study on the lives of families by documenting the experiences, feelings, and movement both from the inside to the outside space of the prison.

The art of performance in using ethnography Ethnography is a form of research in which the values of ethnography enable the researcher to be creative and to divulge emotions, feelings, and how these change in certain spaces. Ethnographers identify space as key to understanding how one can ‘experience’ certain spaces; and how individuals can internalise specific emotions in designated spaces. Addressing issues of social injustice, social identities, and spatial awareness, we can reflect on an in-​depth account of the experiences of families of prisoners. This extensively contributes to existing contemporary literature that has adopted qualitative methods to study the prison world (Drake, 2012; Phillips, 2012; Crewe, 2014). Using interviews and observations, this book documents families’ life experiences from the prison visiting room to the home; as well as the ongoing interactions with governmental agencies, including those regarding welfare. Published studies, including Clemmer (1940) and Sykes (1958), identified that the prison community can be defined as prisoners sharing sets of values and norms. More importantly, scholars identified that prisons should be described metaphorically as an ‘organism’, where the stems are 3

Prisoners’ Families, Emotions and Space

interconnected. The stems can symbolically describe how the processes in the system are connected to one another. Therefore, prison visits are a key part of the overall system that connects the inside to the outside world (Comfort, 2008; Moran, 2013a; Benisty et al, 2020). While we can critique much of their work, we also need to be mindful that these scholars have created a platform for future scholars to develop further research that can explore the interactional dynamics between prisoners and prison officers (Drake, 2012; Crewe et al, 2014; Jewkes and Moran, 2014; Hemsworth, 2016; Herrity, 2020; Nielaczna, 2021) and understand the culture, norms, and values that are in the prison system. Most importantly, the intricate emotional aspects of the prison system can be explored in more depth, including sound (Hemsworth, 2016; Hjornevik, 2019; Herrity, 2020), emotions (Laws, 2018), texture (Adams, 2021), and the architecture of prisons (Jewkes, 2011; Moran et al, 2013; Moran, 2016; Turner, 2016). On a spring afternoon, I travelled to a small town in the west of Scotland via public transport. This was a prominent part of my journey. Travelling to prisons either by train and bus, while tedious, was also very productive as it sparked many conversations with families that were going to and from the prison. This small town was a fishing town with much of the economy derived from jobs that were created by the fishing harbour. The town also suffered from the backlash of Thatcherite policies in the 1980s which had led to high levels of deprivation and poverty. The prison was established in 1900s, and stood at the top of a hill. As I entered it, I noticed it was small and quite suffocating, the reception, security area, and waiting room were all in one space with little room for movement. In fact, this left little room to have private conversations with families and prison staff or to make discreet observations. As this was my first time, I was given a tour of the prison by a prison officer. He had spent over ten years working in this establishment as well as being a local resident that knew the outside community very well. However, this was not uncommon, with many of the prison officers who worked in this prison growing up in close proximity to those imprisoned, with some either residing near to one another, or having gone to the same school. Access had been mediated by gaining the trust of all the key research networks. It was also about adopting a range of roles to facilitate interaction. My roles were influenced by space, identity, and the relationships constructed. Trust went beyond ethical considerations on access and in this type of setting trust was based on adopting tools to construct relationships as well as to maintain contact with participants by building on substantial conversations that were sustained throughout the course of collecting data. Informal conversations were the gateway to being accepted by a community that was often unheard and unseen. This community was composed of families that are consistent in maintaining contact with their loved ones. Similarly, 4

Introduction

Megan Comfort (2008) used her position as a volunteer to coordinate a HIV-​prevention programme for women with incarcerated male partners. She saw this as a ‘stepping-​stone’, a way to build a sense of trust with her female partners. However, access was mediated by adopting several unconventional roles in support of the women visiting the prison, such as ‘lending clothes; caring for children or even an informal advisory to explain rules of the prison to newcomers’. The researcher’s positionality has been central in ethnography to enabling reflection on how one conducts research in the social world. The reflection process addresses the number of selves performed by the researcher (Drake and Harvey, 2014; Adams, 2021). It also gives us a degree of understanding into the social identity markers of the researcher, and how this has impacted the conduct of the research. This study has enabled me as a researcher to underpin some of the values highlighted by Comfort’s work. The relationship between ethnographic methods, geographical spaces, and emotions are a central feature in understanding how one performs in the conduct of such research (Adams, 2021). As ethnographers, we are compelled to understand the type of roles adopted, which Goffman conceptualises as ‘dramaturgical theory’. Goffman (1961) argues that the art of performance is based on separating the front stage and backstage, that is, ‘audience segregation’. The front stage exists in relation to performing to our audiences and the backstage is focused on our real selves, or our most comfortable self. Most of the roles I elicited were based on the response of families towards me. Thus, for much of the process, I became the friend, the babysitter, the confidante to the naïve student, and these roles were replicated across all the three prisons I conducted research in. Those roles were also common in Comfort’s (2008) and Arditti’s (2010) research within waiting rooms. Most importantly, our performance is adaptive to our identity, including gender, race, and social class. Ethnography has been influential in understanding further the presence of my identity as a researcher, but also in examining in more depth the emotions that occupied certain spaces. Getting through the prison gates Prison visits were a key site for this research –​one which contributed to an insight into the prison system which allowed me to document how relationships were formed and to conceptualise in more depth the processes that included body language, dialogue, and the experiences of families. There has been an abundance of research on the quality of prison visits (Liebling, 1999, 2013; Brunton-​Smith and McCarthy, 2016; McCarthy and Adams, 2018; Long et al, 2019; Benisty et al, 2020; Young and Turanovic, 2020; Font et al, 2021; Nielaczna, 2021). Quality can be defined by the positive experiences of maintaining contact between prisoners and their families. There has also been a political drive by policymakers to reduce levels of 5

Prisoners’ Families, Emotions and Space

reoffending. However, we also have to be sceptical about seeing prison visits as an instrumental tool in rehabilitating offenders. Nevertheless, many scholars have argued that we need to value the distinct needs of families of prisoners as a contribution to the penal discourse (Morris, 1965; Condry, 2007; Comfort, 2008; Arditti et al, 2010; Christian, 2019; Long et al, 2019; Benisty et al, 2020; Condry and Minson, 2020). In terms of the political agenda, in Scotland since 2015 there has been a cultural shift to value prison visits as a right and not a privilege, and this has raised a greater awareness of the rights of both prisoners and families (McCarthy and Adams, 2017). This initiative has also been aligned with the 1985 United Nations Convention of the Rights of the Child (UNCRC), in which parental incarceration is seen as a worldwide issue and recognition that states should ensure that the needs of the child are met is a priority. Scottish ministers have advocated the improvement of family ties by investing finances and resources into improving the contact between prisoners and families. As of 19 February 2021, the prison population of Scotland was 7,358, of which 5,411 (74%) had been sentenced (ScotPho, 2021); this is a trend that follows on from 2018, in which the Scottish imprisonment rate was 143 per 100,000 members of the national population (McVie and Matthews, 2018), one of the highest imprisonment rates in Europe. McVie and Matthews (2018) followed up a study of Houchin’s (2005) by analysing whether there is a relationship between levels of deprivation and high levels of imprisonment. In accordance with Houchin, McVie and Matthews argued that this relationship is positively significant, and that social inequalities are a key theme in the discourses of the families of prisoners. In 1965, the first book on families of prisoners was written by Pauline Morris. This book grounds much of the understanding today about the consequential effects of families. Fifty-​five years later, we are still campaigning for the same rights for prisoners’ families. There has been an important sociological contribution in understanding the typology of families as well as reconstructing the definition of the family (Jardine, 2019). While Morris’s (1965) work has been groundbreaking, she provides a narrow version of what constitutes the family, with only recognition of the nuclear family being given. Most of her participants were female with an emphasis on heterosexual relationships and were predominately made up of White families. There is still an urgent issue to be addressed which is the need for the diversity of families to be included in the discourse of families of prisoners and to recognise hidden populations, including same-​sex relationships as well as minority ethnic families. We need to use our platform to expand on the differing types of relationships that exist for prisoners and family members that go beyond the scope of heterosexual relationships. For example, McCarthy and Adams (2018) found that parental responsibility went further than the biological mother and father; and in fact, the responsibility could lie with 6

Introduction

extended family like siblings and grandparents who care for incarcerated young men. There has been a conscious effort for siblings and extended family members to take on the caring role before incarceration, due to the absence of biological parents. Similarly, Jardine (2019) explored the significant relationships constructed during the loved ones’ incarceration. This reconstruction of the family is based on the shared practices and values which are divulged during prison visits and beyond. There has been more of an open approach in understanding the realities of families and this has helped conceptualise how care is approached by identifying issues related to identity social markers including gender, social class, and race. For example, Christian (2019) argues for the need to use an intersectional framework in developing a more holistic approach that explores the experiences of families. This is significant as there is little understanding about the related identity attributes which influence the construction of families of prisoners. This impinges on the importance of understanding cultural dimensions and values, which have not been significantly discussed. In relation to Christian’s work, Adams and McCarthy (2019) explored the racial dimensions of parenting in the context of youth incarceration in England. Parenting is heavily racialised and gendered in relation to how parents shape their responsibilities for their young men in prison. Their findings identified a cultural taboo for many Asian mothers regarding having a son who was imprisoned. Feelings of exclusion and shame were experienced within these communities, and to the extent that many Black mothers spoke about the need to protect their sons before they were incarcerated can also be seen as an example of shame. Similar to this issue, Abass et al (2016) explored the experiences of Pakistani families in the north of England, where ‘cultural shaming’ has been a determinant in understanding the specifics of cultural displacement in South Asian families. The theme of cultural shame resonated with Kita’s (2018) study on Japanese families of prisoners and their experiences of being shamed due to the criminal consequences of their loved ones. Influenced by Braithwaite’s (1989) ‘reintegrative shaming’, it has been identified that families experience feelings of fear of being cast out by society. However, Kita found shaming differed among families, and the level of difference was dependent on the social status of families. Once more, existing scholarship on the families of prisoners has been dominated by a Western perspective, and there has been an a need to include further analysis of families from Indigenous communities and from the Global South (Besemer and Dennison, 2018; Besemer et al, 2019), with some recognition of linking this to the theorising around the need to have more conversations about ‘decolonisation’ and decolonising academia (Blagg et al, 2019; Choak, 2020) and how this will contribute to strengthening the analysis on the experiences of families of prisoners. Lastly, there is a lack of understanding about the LGBT+​families 7

Prisoners’ Families, Emotions and Space

of prisoners in this discipline and it is important to recognise further that sexual orientation is significant when reconstructing the experiences of families. Echoing this, Jardine (2019) acknowledged that changes in society, including legislation regarding same-​sex couples, have not been reflected in the academic treatment of the consequences of imprisonment. While this book solely focuses on heterosexual relationships, the last point should not go unnoticed, and we need to be aware that families are not homogenous.

Situating families of prisoners in the discourse of carceral geography The beginning of this book conceptualises further the issues of space, emotions, and identity as the means to understand the discourse of families of prisoners. Most importantly, we will explore these concepts by examining many of the thinkers from the discipline of feminist geography, which will not only support the testimonies from this book, but also contribute to highlighting the interconnection of geography and criminology. Space Carceral geography originated from the intersection of human geography and criminology. Scholars in this field have explored the interconnections of space, time, and power in the context of specific institutions, like prisons (Dirsuweit, 1999; Lopez-​Aguado, 2016; Marti, 2019). Theorists, like Lefebvre (1974), explore how space is represented and how space can recreate power dynamics between the oppressors and the oppressed. If we explore this in more depth, these power dynamics are linked to how we define the relationship between the individual and the agency. Lefebvre argues that the exercise of power is mediated by the interactions constructed and this is intertwined with use of time and space. Most importantly, space and time should be seen as being ‘not absolute [but] rather relational’ (Lefebvre, 1974: 262), with these two concepts not being treated as separate entities. It is important that we treat both space and time as equal phenomena and not assume that time is positioned higher than space. In this book, I will explore how space is attuned to the experiences of families and what meanings are symbolised by families to express their emotions in their navigation within these spaces. Furthermore, I will explore how they have attached meanings to certain spaces and whether these meanings shift as their journeys transition during the incarceration period. Carceral geographers have argued that the prison visiting room can be understood as a liminal space (Comfort, 2008; Moran and Keinan, 2012; Moran, 2013; Foster, 2019a, 2019b). Liminality derives from the Latin word ‘linnen’, meaning the threshold. Scholars have argued that the concept of 8

Introduction

the ‘liminal’ can describe the meaning of the prison visit, as a space that interconnects the outside to the inside of the prison. Liminal space, coined by anthropologist Van Gennep (1960), explored the idea of the rites of passage in understanding how one transitions from one life stage to another. The liminal phase can be described as being a zone from a betwixt to a between and it is characterised as a form of otherness. This otherness is classified as a range of negatives depicted as the ‘nor’. The ‘nor’ is focused on not having a label or attachment, rather it is a zone that enables one to drift from one place to another. We describe this zone as a doorway to be crossed in order to enter another part of a realm. However, the liminal space is important because it is classified as a fixed space-​time and it devotes its time to serving a purpose that interconnects one space to another. Carceral geographers have considered the prison visiting room as a ‘liminal space’. We can take one step further to understand that the liminal space can also capture the waiting room/​area. The prison visiting room is a key space that connects the inside to the outside, and the prison should not be considered as static, but as being fluid. If we agree with this contention, we can argue that the prison is metaphorically like a ‘vessel’ that can be interlinked to the outside world. Purposeful activities centred in prisons, such as education, recreation, catering, therapeutics, and familial relationships, are connected to the social world. For example, Turner (2016) described the interconnection of the inside to the outside metaphorically as a patchwork and this was described when using the example of HMP Brixton. This prison worked in partnership with the Victoria and Albert Museum so that the men could participate in the design and creation of a patchwork quilt as an exhibition piece. Each patch symbolised an individual’s incarcerated experience. Turner described this move from the inside to the outside of the penal world as an example of the continuous goings-​on that relate the prison as a designated site that is connected to wider parts of society. If we refer to the prison visiting room, we can contextualise this further by exploring the prison visiting room as a ‘social space’; and this space accommodates educational activities directed at recreating family ties. Interestingly, Foster (2019) explored the notion that this social space can be perceived to be tainted because many families identified that there was a sense of fear and anger when sex offenders (those on protection wing) entered the visiting room space. This can be linked to Comfort (2008), who argued that female partners experience the forms of institutionalisation for a temporary time when visiting a prison, which she described as being ‘between a rock and a hard place’. While these scholars contribute to the academic field, there needs to be further engagement in relation to the concept of identities; and how this is embedded in the exploration of the lives of families. Additionally, there needs to be a discussion about how identities can shift from the inside to the outside of the prison, with an emphasis on exploring the experiences 9

Prisoners’ Families, Emotions and Space

of the outside world with differing agencies. This book creates a platform that connects liminality, identity, and emotions in understanding the experiences of families of prisoners. Identity Carceral geographers argue that social identities are shaped by power structures, systematic oppression, and patriarchy (Moran and Keinanan, 2012; Morin, 2013; Crewe et al, 2014; Miller, 2014; Heiner and Tyson, 2017; Moran and Disney, 2019; Brooks and Best, 2021). We conceptualise social identity in terms of social markers that include gender, social class, and racial dimensions. This book will explore this in more depth as a means of understanding how families’ identities can be constructed in designated spaces, before and during incarceration. Looking closer at the context to the lived experiences of families, Moran and Keinan (2012) adopt a critical constructionist view to study the representation of penal visiting spaces in a male establishment. She argued that the position of fathers in prison continuously shifted as they crossed from the prison wing into the visiting space. Fathers described their experiences in the visiting room as temporary periods of home life, particularly when participating in arts and recreational activities with their children. Identities continuously shifted from their role as prisoner to that of a father. In this process, many of the men in prison would align themselves to perform heteronormativity in relation to what they considered to be a father. This contributes significantly to this book as we will learn that families are continuously shifting their identities from the prison to the home. It is important to take into consideration the existing literature that identifies the prison as being fluid and being continuously linked to the outside spaces that affect the experiences of families (Comfort, 2008; Moran and Kenanen, 2012; Foster, 2019a). For example, Wacquant (2001, 2009) delved into exploring the spaces that confined Black American communities. He conceptualised the term ‘carceral mesh’ to describe the overlap between the ‘ghetto’ and the prison system. From his historical analysis, Wacquant argues that over history these identities have shifted from one space to another. Similar to this, contemporary research has found a collective shift in Black American and Latino identities along a continuum from the carceral to the streets or the carceral to probation (Lopez-​Aguado, 2016; Van Blerk, 2017; Brooks and Best, 2021). For example, Van Blerk (2017), argued that carceral geographers are concerned with the shift in identities from the inside to the outside of the prison. She uses Wacquant to contextualise her arguments on how masculinity has been shaped from the streets to the prison and vice versa in Cape Town. For Van Blerk (2017), liminality is underpinned by the performance of young men on what they symbolise as being a man in both the streets and the penal space. The 10

Introduction

rules, behaviour, and social values that cross both spaces can be linked to Wacquant’s analysis. There needs to be more of a conscientious effort to look further into the experiences of families of prisoners, with a need to recognise the relationship of space to social identity. Scholars (for example, Rosenberg and Oswin, 2015; Van Blerk, 2017) argue that gender is an important contribution to penal research and there needs to be more discussion looking at how gender continuously shifts in the prison system. For example, Schiele (2017) argues that trans women in prison provide a distinct understanding of issues related to gendered identities. She identifies that exploring the subject of trans women goes beyond traditional understandings of gender norms in prison, which is often dominated by a male perspective. Therefore, there is a more urgent need to explore the interconnection with feminist criminology and geography to understand how gendered identities are shaped in carceral spaces. Correspondingly, Dirsuweit (1999) argues that the experiences of same-​sex couples are shaped by the design of the prison layout and relationships are determined by the rules and regulations of prison. Furthermore, the performance of gender for lesbian relationships is dictated by the norms of heterosexuality, that is, the ideas of ‘butch’ and ‘femme’. However, there has also been a deeper understanding about the use of power and how this has been exercised to create the dominant (butch) one in the relationship over dominated (femme). Interestingly, this presents an important area for this book in looking at how identities are important in shaping the existence of families of prisoners in a range of spaces. Emotions Emotions have been neglected in the sociology of prison research (Laws, 2018; Garrihy and Watters, 2020; Hemming et al, 2020; Jewkes and Laws, 2020; Adams, 2021). Geographers explore how emotions can be shaped in response to the location and structure of power dynamics. Hochschild (1979) argues that emotional work is present in academia where there has been little commitment to exploring the experiences of the researcher or even both. Bondi (2005) looked at whether emotions can be situated in the realms of scientific research. She argued that emotions and thinking are compatible and feminist epistemology celebrates the importance of emotions in the field of academia. The epistemology for this piece of work views emotions as a part of the research process and knowledge production, reflecting the social world as well as political changes caused by neoliberalism. Neoliberalism is driven by the ethos of individualism and responsibility and has ‘made emotion a commodity to be consumed as a spectacle or a target for therapeutic intervention’ (Sharp, 2009: 73). However, feminist geographers 11

Prisoners’ Families, Emotions and Space

embrace the importance of emotions in understanding that emotions are fluid and can construct multiple realities of everyday life. Similar to this, Lash and Urry (1994) argued that emotions are ubiquitous and are embedded in the representation of the meaning of place. The concept of place can be described as close to a set of objects in which emotions are provoked. This will be explored further in Chapter 2. Emotional geographies exist in some of the penal literature on the relationship between emotions and performance in prisons and how this can be linked to the construction of gender roles. With regard to the prison, Crawley (2004) examined the performance of emotions in response to prison work. She argues that prison work is emotionally demanding and Crawley described this as performing ‘emotional labour’. For some prison officers, the spaces were constructed according to the differing types of emotions exposed. Crawley argued that emotions were performed and managed in response to the psychological pressures experienced daily in the prison. Similarly, Crewe et al (2014) explored the emotional zones in male establishments; and how gender ideals were constructed. The zones represented subjective ideals about what is masculine and feminine. For example, the domesticity of the kitchen was linked to feminine connotations in comparison to the prison wings and cells. Further, the visiting room was the immediate zone with the connection to the outside being described as ‘temporarily suspended’. This zone amplified feelings of warmth and care to both the prisoner and their family members. Laws (2018) examined the emotional spaces related to front stage and backstage performance. He argued that the production of emotions was considered in terms of psychological defences. Many men imprisoned are most likely to project emotions onto others as well as to be in emotional denial. However, there needs to be further acknowledgement of how emotions are shaped by gendered identity. There has been a lot of dialogue about how emotions assume heteronormative ideals in relation to what is masculine and feminine. There needs to be further debate on how emotions are constructed in relation to the idea that gender is fluid and how this manages emotions in each space. Most importantly, there is a need to acknowledge the emotional zones that are inside the prison but also on the outside, that is, within the home and beyond. In this book, all three concepts are significant and are intertwined in underpinning the experiences of families of prisoners.

Structure of the book This book will explore these three concepts in the context of families of prisoners and the penal spaces and beyond. Chapter 2 will examine how gender is an important contribution to understanding the experiences of families of prisoners. Most of the families who support loved ones in prison 12

Introduction

are often female and many adopt caring and domestic roles. In this chapter, I will explore the concept of ‘care work’ to understand how female family members have been constrained by positions which are centred around domestic and care work. Female family members mediate between caring for the prisoner and childcare responsibilities. Chapter 3 will use testimonies to understand how prison visiting room spaces can sustain relationships for prisoners and families. This chapter will explore whether families experience the visiting room as a space to recreate familial roles. This chapter will show that the intention of the prison visits was to create a fabricated home space in which families exhibited a range of emotions. This artificial setting was often dominated by educational and play activities which resonated with home life. However, families experienced a range of challenges which led to negative emotions, including anger and resentment, due to the fact that these representations of home life were often static and short-​lived experiences. Chapter 4 will document families’ testimonies on spaces dominated by forms of social control within the prison visits, including strict security checks, body searches, or being visibly watched in the prison visiting area. Families shared their emotions of scrutiny and being judged due to their common experiences of having a loved one in prison. Furthermore, families made observations about the prison layout in which many families voiced concern about the challenges to intimacy with loved ones. This chapter goes on to explore social control mechanisms beyond the prison, where many families experienced similar emotions of scrutiny on the outside of the prison, for example in interactions with welfare agencies. Chapter 5 will explore how waiting is constructed within different spaces and will outline where and how long families wait in response to dealing with the effects of incarceration. Some sources talked about their waiting period when their loved one was on remand waiting to be sentenced. Others explores sporadic periods of waiting during the incarceration period, including travelling to the prison, waiting for a telephone call from the prisoner, and waiting in the waiting room for a prison visit. At the same time, families were also waiting for support from governmental agencies, for example pursuing welfare assistance or support from social services. Overall, this chapter will explore whether waiting is another exercise of control in the process of incarceration. Chapter 6 will document how incarceration affects families managing adversity and how this is overcome. More importantly, this chapter will explore how families cope during the period of imprisonment and ask if some families cope better than others. Following on from this, the chapter will explore the importance of social support mechanisms, such as family members, friends, or other members of the community, as well as looking at the family dynamics which occurred among relatives and their informal support networks, and how informal networks accommodate support for families in their negotiation of the incarceration process. Lastly, Chapter 7 13

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emphasises the importance of space in documenting the experiences of families visiting the prison and in the home. Furthermore, exploring families from a carceral geographical lens provides a distinct contribution to the effects of incarceration. This chapter will draw on policy and public debates from the criminal justice system and the welfare state. Families are trapped in forms of governance which have implications for family ties. Therefore, this chapter will reflect on existing policies targeted at prisoners’ families in Scotland, England, and Wales.

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2

Feminist geographies and carceral perspectives In this chapter, we will argue that the use of ‘feminist geographies’ is an important contribution that shapes the testimonies voiced by family members in this book. This chapter will also support existing literature that identifies ‘gender’ to be significant in shaping the experiences, attitudes, and perceptions of families of prisoners (Morris, 1965; Angules, 1990; Comfort, 2008; Foster, 2019a; Kotova, 2020). While this is not new in the discourse of families of prisoners, it is still important to argue that the dialogue on ‘gender’ is significant when studying the experiences of families. Thus, authors such as Angules (1990) used a feminist approach to understand the concept of ‘caring’ and how this is exercised predominately by female relatives with a loved one in prison. Furthermore, contemporary studies (Adams and McCarthy, 2019; Christian, 2019) adopted more of an intersectional approach in providing a holistic perspective to see whether social markers of identity influence the needs of families while a loved one is incarcerated. In analysing gender as a contribution, it is important to draw on critical themes that have been identified in existing literature, including the role of waiting (Foster, 2019a, 2019b), the use of time (Kotova, 2020), and penal power (Lanksey et al, 2019). It is necessary, as well, to explore how the effects of social inequalities can exacerbate the situation of a family that has a member incarcerated. This book uses the disciplines of criminology and human geography to explore markers of social identity, including social class and gender. As a result, it is argued that the use of feminist geographers will contribute significantly to shaping the understanding of the experiences of relatives of those imprisoned, including female relatives. ‘Care work’ is a critical theme in this book, and we will explore the relation of care work with the penal system to understand how these perpetrate forms of ‘harm’ and how these shape the experiences of women. Care work has been vital for geographers in understanding the experiences of women in public and private spaces, including both institutional and home settings. Feminist geographers argue that the role of ‘care’ can be understood from multiple of perspectives that are most likely to be affected by wider political and economic spheres. Most importantly, we can contextualise the role of ‘care’; and how this is experienced by families of prisoners. It is important 15

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to adopt feminist geographies approaches when exploring how care work can apply to a range of informal and formal types of work. This will then be merged with anti-​carceral feminist approaches to document how care work is appropriated in the carceral and home space. This chapter will start with exploring the concept of feminist geographies, focusing on the relation of feminist geographies to care work and then examining the role of feminist carceral spaces.

Feminist geographies Feminist geographies explore the relationship between space, place, and forms of power in trying to understand the experiences of women through arguing that the concept of space is not fixed and can evolve over time (Aitken and Herman, 1997; Dyck, 2005; Valentine, 2007; Sharp, 2009; Bowlby, 2012; Barker, 2011; Laliberte and Schurr, 2016; Fuentes and Cookson, 2020; Bowlby et al, 2021). For example, Valentine (2007: 19) argues that feminist geography discusses the importance of making sure we argue that there is a relationship between space and the dynamics of power, in which there is the ‘productions of space and the systematic of production of power’ (Valentine, 2007). In Chapter 1, I argued that families’ experiences are shaped by distinct spaces and how power dynamics evolve in these spaces. Power is often inherent in the hierarchies that are in place within the prison system, including the interactional dynamics between family members and state officials –​that is, prison officers or social workers. This is not uncommon and we can see similar arguments in other existing literature, including Hopkins (2018), who argues that geographers identify the multiple inequalities that are shaped by groups and individuals and how these can differ depending on the space/​place. Mollet and Faria (2018) argue that there is a need to enhance the discipline of feminist geography because of the challenging issues related to inequality and the need to promote social justice. Furthermore, the authors argue that there is need to recognise multiple forms of power as part of the contribution to the dialogue, including decentring ‘Whiteness’ and heterosexual norms as the ‘normal’ as well as conceptualising power in relation to the political and structural inequalities that have an effect on minority communities. As mentioned in Chapter 1, we have identified that we need to go beyond seeing families of prisoners as only ‘heterosexual’ and White. Instead, there is a need to progress our analysis by adopting multiple axes of oppression, such as those related to sexual orientation and racial dynamics. The argument, then, is that ‘space’ is an important concept, and can cut across multiple forms of power that shape the experiences of families of prisoners. The concept of space has been a critical point of discussion for feminist geographers (Dyck, 2005; Hall, 2017; Murphy, 2017; Power and 16

Feminist geographies and carceral perspectives

Hall, 2017; Fuentes and Cookson, 2020; MacLeavy et al, 2021) in exploring how certain political changes can disrupt certain spaces for marginalised communities. For example, the discourse in feminist geography identified that the emergence of neoliberal ideologies exacerbated forms of social inequalities, and this has led to further harms related to women’s experiences. Feminist geographers recognise that there is a need to centre their analysis towards a campaign for change by taking a political stance, in which, as Hall (2020: 243) argued, that the ‘personal is political’. Hall highlights that our personal interests should be led with a political drive geared to making significant changes for the most vulnerable. She argues that we need to recognise the ‘political’ with a capital ‘P’ rather than a lower-​case ‘p’. Taking this into consideration, I will explore families from a political standpoint by addressing the injustices faced as a means to raise awareness about identifying ways forward that are significant to certain spaces for families, like the prison and the home. We can take this forward by adopting a political standpoint in relation to understanding the human rights and social justice approach to the needs of the families of prisoners. For example, Scharff-S​ mith (2018) explores the relational dynamics of the state authorities and families of prisoners, and the role the state has in policing the experiences of families in the prison and beyond. Authors like Scharff-​Smith (2018) and Jardine (2019) spoke about the hostile interactions experienced by families from prison officers. Jardine (2019) describes this as ‘adversarial interaction’. Scharff-​Smith argued that there needs to be a stronger link to power and security when analysing the scrutiny families experience. Rhetoric, such as policies centred on being ‘tough on crime’, does not lend any legitimacy to understanding the perspectives of families of prisoners. Instead, it can be argued that this type of rhetoric leads to ill-​informed practices for supporting families. In addition, Condry (2018) discussed the parameters of what is social justice and whether this is compatible with understanding the needs of the families. Condry argued that the concepts of social justice and punishment are complex and that this can lead to greater harms being experienced by families. Condry speaks about the disenfranchisement families experience that can be defined by social identity markers, like socio-​economic or racial dispositions. Consequently, if we are going to explore the role of social justice values, it is important to speak about equal distribution of resources and access, and unfortunately families are denied certain resources due to their social position in society. Thus it is imperative to note that to discuss families in the context of geographical spaces we must be able to contextualise this in the sphere of the political agenda both on an international and national scale. Touching upon the international scale, we can align political conversations on improving the experiences and needs of families with the UNCRC’s right to family life (Article 9). These articles have underpinned discussions regarding contact via prison visits on whether this should be considered as a 17

Prisoners’ Families, Emotions and Space

privilege or a right. McCarthy and Adams (2017) spoke about the political differences in relation to prison visits between Scotland and England/​Wales, in which visits are either a privilege or a right, particularly as Scotland adopts a progressive stance to change the culture shift on prison visits and to make this a right. This is a political stance based on a sense of openness when it comes to defining the role of the family in response to promoting evidence of penal reform. All of these discussions are critical to understanding that when we speak about families in respect to space, emotions, and power, we need to make sure that conversations are framed by ‘capital-​P’ Politics to understand more deeply the structural inequalities that can shape the experiences of families. One of the cultural shifts in the discourse of feminist geographers is to adopt different theoretical and methodological approaches that can present data that pays tribute to challenging injustices and oppressive mechanisms. Most importantly, the shift in research recognises the importance of the political and economic spheres that can shape the structure of certain spaces, including the penal system. Secondly, feminist geographers advocate certain methodological practices, including reflexivity. These practices provide researchers with a way to reflect on their personal journey in conducting fieldwork and can also contribute to the political significance of a particular topic. The use of reflexivity in feminist geography provokes certain discussions that surround understanding how certain forms of power can be exercised (Whitson, 2017; Mollet and Faria, 2018); deconstructs racial and economic disparities (Davidson and Milligan, 2004; Carstensen-​ Egwuom, 2014); creates a platform that contributes to decolonising feminist geography; and reflects on research practices beyond the West. These conversations are not new in the discourse of families of prisoners; however, they are significant for researchers because they highlight the importance of adopting empathetic tools to gather data. This ties in with arguments that identify the need to diversify our theoretical and methodological framework when conceptualising the definition of the family (Jardine, 2019). Also, notably, existing scholarship (for example, Sharp, 2007, 2009; McEwan and Goodman, 2010) expands on engaging in reflective practices to raise awareness and challenge issues related to women, including gender violence, care practices, and economic insecurity. These central themes on care practices and economic insecurity are continuously weaved into many of the testimonies from female relatives in response to having a loved one incarcerated. The discourse on emotions contributes significantly to identifying how these can be depicted in certain geographical spaces and how this can interplay between the researcher and the researched (Davidson and Milligan, 2004; Bondi, 2005; Pile, 2009; Laliberte and Schurr, 2016). For example, Bondi (2005) argues that the presence of the body is symbolic during the 18

Feminist geographies and carceral perspectives

research process and can be significant in determining certain feelings/​ expressions experienced by the researcher and those researched. Scholars recognised that emotions are significant for capturing researcher–​participant relationships in institutional spaces, including prisons (Dirsuweit, 1999; Jewkes and Moran, 2014; Adams, 2021), immigration detention centres (Bosworth, 2019), and asylums (Philo and Parr, 2000). Moreover, Laliberte and Schurr (2016) argue that it is important to capture the emotions that are marked by one body and how this body expresses itself with another. The authors acknowledge that this is not as simple as demarcating one’s emotions rather, contact is mediated ‘by past histories of contact’ (Laliberte and Schur, 2016: 74). Emotions can be shaped by certain perceptions from other groups that can be influenced by political agendas or representations in the media. For example, Ahmed’s (2004) argument on ‘collective feelings’ explores emotions that are based on the relationship between ‘attachment and movement’, in which she argues that emotions can be dependent on certain spaces, places, or objects that lead to certain expressions. With this, Ahmed argues that emotions are ‘collective’ and are aligned to the binary process of inclusion and exclusion (to simplify this –​‘us vs them’). These narratives help to contribute to understanding how emotions are constructed by families in response to political and media backlash. The depictions of families of prisoners in the media is either neglected or misconstrued and this perpetrates further shame and criminalisation (Condry, 2007; Condry and Minson, 2020; Kotova, 2020). Feminist geographers have also seen emotions as a useful tool to bridge the gap between academia and activism (Davidson and Milligan, 2004; Sharp, 2007, 2009; Wright, 2010; MacLeavy et al, 2021) In fact, Wright (2010) argues that we need to push forward further conversations exploring the relationship between emotions and social justice, as well as examine how these can be mediated in certain spaces. For example, Sharp (2007, 2009) argues that the need to campaign for the rights of women is to interconnect the three concepts of ‘emotions, power, and change’ to bring forth the critical issues relating to women. These sentiments, I argue, are synchronised with one another and can contribute to in-​depth discussions of the emotional politics surrounding the families of prisoners. It is important to argue that the politico-​economic state of families is indicative of the changes made in line with governmental cuts. These austerity measures have affected the lives of families, and for many of the ones reflected in this book, we can see the devastating impact since the 1980s and 1990s on working-​class Scottish communities, especially those that reside in small towns. Austerity originated in the neoliberal politics of cutbacks to public funding and resources, and an ‘outsourcing’ of previous state welfare responsibilities to community networks as the cornerstone for support to families from disadvantaged backgrounds. 19

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This has been strenuous for many women and has led to the overburden of precarious employment and education, as well as greater pressure to take on caring roles and responsibilities, very often with little governmental assistance. The consequences of this neoliberalist agenda impacted on recognising women’s rights in social policy, which were essentially glossed over and ignored (Jupp, 2017). While this was happening, scholars (Fraser, 2004, 2007; Jupp, 2017; Hall, 2019) identified the need for activism and the right to campaign for the voices of women. Nancy Fraser (2007) analyses the historical climate contextualising the political structure on employment and reproductive rights for women. She conceptualises the role of ‘redistribution and recognition’ to explore the relationship between cultural recognition of women’s rights and the promotion of social equality that will contribute to an inclusive environment. She explains that during the capitalist era, we are currently living in a ‘crisis of care’ that promote policies creating ‘economic and cultural’ disadvantages resulting in increased time pressures for women. She points out that there has been an increase in the recruitment of women in the workforce but there are still significant pressures on women to take on the caring responsibilities due to the cutbacks in public services. Later, in this chapter, we will conceptualise the role of ‘care’ and care work practices in relation to informal caring duties, and how this can shape the experiences of families of prisoners. Feminist geographers have identified that austerity impacts adversely caring practices women (Hall, 2016, 2017, 2020), in which, are most likely to affect female relatives of prisoners. There has also been an increase in food insecurity due to austerity and this has been exacerbated due to the pandemic. Many children, especially those with a parent incarcerated, are likely to be at a higher risk of food poverty due to the absence of free school meals and the lack of support by the government to replace these meals for those most disadvantaged. It is important to situate this in the context of families of prisoners and how this group is most likely to be affected by austerity. There is a strong emotional link between incarceration and child poverty. There has been some awareness of this in existing scholarship, like Turney’s study (2015) that identifies that ‘food insecurity’ can have an impact on the children of those who have parents incarcerated. Turney shows that there is a significant relationship between child food insecurity arising out of parental incarceration and educational and health impairments for those children. These findings contribute significantly to the broader debates around the consequences of austerity, the effects of incarceration, and the issues surrounding the pandemic. Geographers (Staeheli and Brown, 2003; Hayes-​Conroy and Hayes-​ Conroy, 2008; Hall, 2015; Lambie-​Mumford and Green, 2017; Strong, 2020) recognise that there has been a rise of community initiatives like food banks as a supplement to the decrease in governmental assistance. However, the 20

Feminist geographies and carceral perspectives

development of food banks has been initiated as a long-​term goal in response to economic inequalities, that is, precarious employment. Food banks can be described as being in a state of limbo, mediating between the individual and third sector, and which, in turn, can be described as a ‘liminal space between institutional and structural responses’ (Hall, 2019: 772). Food banks are a key example highlighting the ramifications of austerity, because they are now a key means of supporting the most vulnerable families. However, it is also important to include in this conversation the families of prisoners. In 2013, the government imposed further regulations on capping benefits with the introduction of a new scheme called Universal Credit. Universal Credit, in essence, collects and collates all benefits accruing to families and puts them together under one banner, resulting, in practice, in one regular monthly payment, instead of numerous ones. However, the emergence of this scheme has led to public scrutiny. There was an outcry because of the subsequent level of the cuts that were introduced, including the introduction of benefit caps, work allowances being frozen, and the lowering of the amount for child benefits. Those who were most disadvantaged by these devastating cuts were from single-​parent families. In Chapter 4, this book explores the transitions families experience in response to surveillance mechanisms that are shaped by the prison system and welfare state. Much of this book includes testimonies of families navigating between the perils of the prison and the services of the welfare system that have continuously caused further harm. Many families spoke about feeling trapped and being in a ‘catch-​22’ situation, in which they needed the benefits, but at the same felt humiliated and criminalised. Overall, feminist geographers have identified that the relationship between austerity and care practices affect the most disadvantaged, like the families participating in this project. This leads on to the next section of the chapter looking at how we explore the concept of ‘austerity’ and how this has shaped the practices of care.

Caring practices and care work The definition of care has drastically shifted due to the political changes that have occurred over the past 30 years. Feminist geographers (Staeheli and Brown, 2003; Massey, 2004; Barker, 2011; Hall and Jayne, 2016; Hall, 2017, 2019) argue that the cuts to public services have led to the creation of new spaces of care that have heavily relied on informal networks, including the community and family. Informal networks act as a ‘buffer’ for families during the hard times and anxieties that surround the effects of the incarceration process (McCarthy and Adams, 2018). The reliance on informal networks is due to the lack of public services for families (Dickie, 2013), but also the shame and judgement attached to the incarceration process leads to a further restriction of resources. Nancy Fraser (Fraser and Naples, 21

Prisoners’ Families, Emotions and Space

2004) argued that we are undergoing a ‘care crisis’ and that this has led to a change in the relationship between how we mediate between care and responsibilities. Geographers (for example, Lawson, 2007; Bowlby, 2012; Disney, 2015; Bowlby et al, 2021) explore how care and responsibilities are situated in certain spaces/​places. In fact, care can be described as ‘sporadic’ in institutions like prisons, residential homes, and mental health facilities. In these institutions, while there is evidence of practices of care, this is inconsistent and is not always effective in institutions that primarily uphold social control processes. For example, Disney (2015) explored residential homes as a place of care whereby specific spaces can be designed to resemble the home. Despite this, the author also argued that regulations and rules were so bureaucratic that it was hard to produce positive feelings, like a sense of belonging, or being at home. The concept of institutional care can be applied to understanding the state of the prison and how care practices are shaped in the dynamics between prisoners and their families. Drawing on geographers like Disney, we can argue that there are certain spaces in the prison, including the visiting room, that have the potential to adopt forms of care. However, it can also be argued that this is only short lived as the purpose of the prison is to punish. In this book, it is also important to expand on some of the arguments by feminist geographers’ perspectives on the alternative spaces of care that are similar to the discussions surrounding the voluntary organisations that play a significant part in managing visiting centres in the prison. Charities are currently commissioned by the government to run visiting centres. However, many of these charities’ contracts are precarious and only run for a temporary period. Interestingly, many families shared that they valued staff from voluntary organisations, such as Families Outside, because they were more openly received and accepted by them. Many voluntary centres strive to maintain a family-​led culture whereby many of these spaces resemble public institutions like cafés. All these examples are signs that there is progress in trying to evolve in the right direction for a humane approach to strengthen family ties. Moran and Disney (2018) identified that there is a blurred line between public and private moments in the visiting room, between prisoners and their families. The visiting room resembles public spaces, like a café or a library. This argument can also be used in relation to visiting centres, where families wait before they enter the visiting room. Foster (2017) argued that it is important to extend the concept of liminal space to include the perimeters of the visiting centre. Visiting centres can present a range of functions including the provision of basic administrative functions, for example, the booking-​in system, as well as others that have a wealth of services dedicated to families. Many families document an overwhelming feeling of moving from a site of ‘care’, and then into a visiting room that can have many restrictions and rules. 22

Feminist geographies and carceral perspectives

This can also be applied to Comfort’s (2008) and Moran’s (2012) concept of ‘quasi-​institutionalisation’, in which families are continuously experiencing temporary forms of surveillance. Moran’s work has been underpinned by Bowlby’s inequalities of care that are mediated by time and space. I argue that institutions, like prisons, can cause an unequal distribution of care practices. Bowlby describes confinement care as ‘confinement of unwanted restraint or limitation’ (2012: 2108). This is significant when exploring how time is distributed to the families of prisoners. Time is essential to understanding the relationship between caring practices and space which shapes the experiences of prisoners and their families. In the existing literature (for example, Wahidin, 2006; Armstrong, 2018; Foster, 2019a; Kotova, 2020), time in prison can be described as a metaphor for a ‘timetable’, in which prisoners and their families need to regulate their behaviour to fit the norms of the prison system. For example, Armstrong (2018) explores the dimensions of time by exploring how prisoners consider time in certain penal spaces, for example, the experiences of time from the ‘cell’ to the hallway. Time has been significant for families in a way that goes beyond visiting the prison but also in relation to receiving support from other institutions, including the welfare system and education. This will be echoed by some of the testaments in Chapter 5 through the lens of ‘spatialities of waiting’. Chapter 5 will also examine the connection of space and time by understanding the different approaches to waiting that are defined by families. If we take this on board, we need to argue that caring practices can be distinctive in the penal system due to the significance of how space and time mediates the practices of how care is performed. For example, Bowlby (2012) encapsulates the concepts of ‘carescapes’ and ‘caringscapes’ to demarcate the differences in institutional and individual practices of care. To an extent, the role of caringscapes can be applied to understanding how ‘care’ is performed by informal networks, in which Bowlby’s eight propositions can be applied to the understanding of how informal care is utilised by families of prisoners in the spaces of the visiting room, the home, and in public spaces. One of the propositions identified is that informal practices often ‘involve relationships of unequal power-​especially inequalities of class, gender, race and disability’ (Bowlby, 2012: 2112). There have been further debates on the need to create change for women to improve levels of equality in terms of the distribution of caring. Activism has been a means for women to see a way forward for change and these examples of activism can be inherent in everyday practices of care.

Activism of care Feminist geographies identified that there is a need to analyse examples of activism that contribute to women’s participation in practices of care 23

Prisoners’ Families, Emotions and Space

(Bhavani and Davis, 1989; Jupp, 2017; Ramdas, 2016; Rodó-​de-​Zárate and Baylina, 2018). For example, Jupp (2017) argued that activism is at the forefront of community initiatives to empower women. The author explored the different activities that are related to care that are outside the home, but are pivotal in making changes within the community. Types of activism have been steered predominantly by voluntary organisations campaigning for political change in response to the distribution of inequalities of caring responsibilities within the home (Hall, 2017). Activism has also enabled us to understand how caring responsibilities are related to surrounding issues of domestic and sexual violence, poverty, and migration. From the testimonies voiced by families, many identified complex issues that had staggered on from before the incarceration period. However, feminist geography argues that the challenges faced by women who engage in care has led to a new arising need, that of resisting. Feminists have campaigned for the importance of activism as a way to fight against oppressive mechanisms related to care institutions (Bhavani and Davis, 1989; Fraser, 2007; Rodó-​de-​Zárate and Baylina, 2018; Collins and Blige, 2020). Feminist thinkers engaged in conversations around the need to explore oppressive mechanisms that regulate female bodies in the home and public spaces. For example, feminists, such as Angela Davis (1989), argued that activism is integral to the voices of Black women who challenge their experiences of victimisation, criminalisation, exploitation, and regulation in the everyday situations relating to care and Black women’s bodies. Key feminist thinkers recognised that there is a need to adopt a collaborative approach that integrates academia and practice in the campaign against gender inequalities. In relation to this, Fraser (2007) argues that feminist philosophy needs to be embedded in revolutionary forms of activism to create changes to improve the quality of life for women. Collins and Blige (2020) describe this as ‘activism intersectionality’, in which this concept is focused on the collaboration between ‘critical praxis and inquiry’ when applying an intersectional analysis that ensures that academia and practice work hand-​in-​hand and inform each other, rather than reject each other. I decided to capture this in some of the research conducted on families of prisoners (Adams, 2021), by reflecting on my social identity in the application of intersectional awareness. This contributed to examining further intersectionality as a way to explore nuances of multiple social factors that can interplay with the experiences of families of prisoners. Adams and McCarthy (2021) and Christian (2019) identify the importance of an intersectional framework drawing on social identity markers that can be applied to narrating a holistic approach when documenting the experiences of families of prisoners. There have been many debates by feminist geographers that explore the interconnection between geography and emotions in promoting ways of activism within the context of a feminist 24

Feminist geographies and carceral perspectives

discourse. For example, MacLeavy et al (2021) show that there is a need for discussions on feminist protest and activism, in which, the authors argue, feminist scholarship needs to be intertwined with activism. Most importantly, there is a consensus across intellectual thinking that there needs to be further contributions to the understanding of how women construct their narratives through the lens of history in order to understand the workings of resistance and resilience. MacLeavy et al (2021: 16) argues that these concepts are an evolving process that can be both ‘emerging, performative and generative’. This means there is a growing importance for women to respond with resistance and resilience when it is about the need to challenge the patriarchal and economic oppressions. Activism can be centred around constructing spaces that are conducive to political, geographical, and historical agendas. If we take MacLeavy et al’s (2021) concept of resilience, this can be about the day-​to-​day realities of how women take on everyday duties, and this can be contextualised by the need for change and that ‘resilience holds out the promise of living with and even benefiting from change, uncertainty and vulnerability’ (MacLeavy et al, 2021: 11). If we situate this within the families of prisoners, it can be argued that there are times families experience forms of adversity, in which, many experience a sense of resistance, resilience and reworkings (Markson et al, 2015; Long et al, 2019). Chapter 6 explores the important coping mechanisms that families adopt to survive the incarceration process. We will look at the different mechanisms that are implemented for families to be resilient to the adversarial factors that are consequential from the prison and the welfare system.

Anti-​carceral feminism The basis of this book is to present an in-​depth narrative on the testimonies of families of prisoners by drawing from the disciplines of criminology and geography. Therefore, it is important to situate the research findings within feminist geography and anti-​carceral feminism so that these assist the analysis of this book. This approach contributes to the dialogue within feminist geographies on themes associated with gender-​related harms, critique of formal institutions, and the political and economic challenges driven by state imperatives that have further disadvantaged women. Most importantly, if we situate families of prisoners in the middle of these two influential areas of scholarships, there is a distinct approach that explores how families identify their experiences in relation to state institutions like the prison and welfare state. Both approaches discuss the forms of state violence that exist for women, from violence in women’s prison to criminalisation of women’s bodies. In this book, state violence is discussed mainly in Chapter 4, by looking at surveillance in different spaces, and how this was extensively harmful for the experiences of relatives of those imprisoned. 25

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Anti-​carceral feminism (Sweet, 2016; Carlton, 2018; Musto, 2019; Terwiel, 2020) arose from the backlash faced by carceral feminism. Carceral feminism emerged from key thinkers, such as sociologist Elizabeth Bernstein (2010). Bernstein argued that there is a need to campaign for longer and harsher sentences as a solution to crimes associated with trafficking. However, anti-​carceral feminists argued that Bernstein’s analysis exacerbated harms for women and did not acknowledge social factors, including race, social class, and gender. For example, Terwiel (2020) recognised that Bernstein’s account caused controversies and led to disagreements with feminist prison abolitionists. There was a range of voices that emerged that became known as ‘anti-​carceral feminism’ and which campaigned against the excessively punitive claims made by Bernstein. Anti-​carceral feminism has drawn from many writing spaces, from academia to popular pieces, including blogs and magazine articles to create an awareness of the harms that exist in adopting a carceral feminist standpoint. Anti-​carceral feminists adopt an intersectional approach in campaigning against issues related to the most vulnerable women, including sexual violence. Many anti-​carceral feminists identified the need to create grassroots movements to tackle gender violence that do not rely on the harms of state institutions, like the prison. Movements like INCITE! worked closely with minority ethnic women to resist the formal controls of prisons as a solution. In 2003, Critical Resistance and INCITE! wrote an academic article to argue that the criminalisation approach was not effective for women that are victims of domestic violence. Examples dovetailed with law enforcement approaches, for example, arrest/​ restraining orders, which can only offer a short-​term effect and which as a long-​term means to protect women are limited. Most importantly, the article took a strong stance against prisons as a solution, calling, instead, for a rejection of using prisons as a key means to resolve domestic violence. The authors identified that prisons do not protect women from domestic violence; rather, prisons only criminalise and are not effective in reducing the levels of domestic violence. Further to this, women imprisoned are the most affected due to the harms inflicted, and prisons are most likely to have a detrimental impact on mental health and suicide. In line with this, Kim (2018) argued that there has been a shift away from punitive policies to work that espouses a restorative approach. These approaches contribute to much of the testimony echoed by movements, like INCITE!, which identified that formal controls undermine the collective work that women achieve to tackle gender violence. Anti-​carceral feminism contributes to a platform that identifies that prisons perpetuate forms of harm and intensify social inequalities for those who are most vulnerable. It bolsters the dialogue on the importance of identity; and that there needs to be a space to discuss the multiple facets that contribute to one’s experiences.

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Conclusion Feminist geography introduces us to the idea that social markers of identity are essential to understanding how space/​place can be situated in a way that challenges these times of complexity, uncertainty, and oppressive mechanisms. It is important to develop these ideas to understand the relationship between care and prisons. By drawing on feminist geographers, we can discuss the politics of care through understanding the key policies that affect care work for the most vulnerable, including families of prisoners. Furthermore, geographers’ conceptualisations of care help understand how care is considered in spaces like the prison and the home. Most importantly, we can also look at understanding how care can give rise to coping mechanisms for families. In the next few chapters, we will embrace the testimonies of families to ground these ideas and thus contribute to a distinct way of integrating criminology and geography.

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The artificial home space: place of care or place of confinement? Having taken into consideration arguments presented in Chapter 2 (see also Valentine, 2007; Sharp, 2009; Barker, 2011; Bowlby, 2012; Laliberte and Schurr, 2016; Evans et al, 2019; Bowlby and Jupp, 2020), it is now important to focus on how spaces of care are mapped in both institutional (prison) and individual (family) practices (Lawson, 2007; Bowlby, 2012; Disney, 2015; Bowlby et al, 2021). It is also important to focus on how there is a relationship between space and emotions, to understand how care is practised in the visiting room and beyond. In this chapter, I will draw on analysing the prison visiting room as an extension to the carceral space. The carceral space is underpinned by forms of social of control, but if we adopt the approaches of the geographies of care literature, it can be argued that aspects of the penal system can be deemed ‘places of care’. There have been many debates to suggest that these places of care resemble the visiting room space in so far as the visiting room space can be identified as a temporary space to facilitate aspects of home life for prisoners and their families. To contribute to existing literature from children’s geographers (for example, Dorrer et al, 2010; Bowlby, 2012; Evans et al, 2019), there has been a debate on how we conceptualise spaces of care in institutions that are underpinned by draconian rules and regulations. For example, Dorrer et al (2010) argues that the purpose of care is recreated in residential homes, in which these spaces are intended to create a family-​like environment; however, these residential homes are also likely to have bureaucratic policies surrounding workplace procedures. Dorrer et al argue that there is a need by institutions to create ‘family-​centred zones’ regardless of whether it is a children’s home or a prison system. However, we have to be cautious to assert that care is not the main purpose. It is important to identify that these are exceptional spaces; the main purpose of institutions like the prison is still to maintain a form of control. In the visiting room, many prisoners, and their families, use this space to assume roles that were theirs in the home, and this can contribute to strengthening their relationships with imprisoned loved ones by fabricating family life in the prison space. This chapter will analyse this by looking further at how the concepts of care and control are captured in the prison visiting room space and what factors contribute to shaping a space like the visiting room as a place of care. This chapter adopts 28

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the term ‘artificial home space’ to reflect on whether the visiting room captures the ensemble of the home. However, it is also important to take note that these resemblances are only for a fixed period and cannot lead to creating a long-​term outcome. Another factor to take into consideration in response to family-​friendly prison visit environments has been the cost implications. New prisons are likely to be private-​sector institutions run by companies such as G4S, which means there is more capacity to invest in a range of resources that can engage families in visits, including recreational/​educational activities. However, academics have also raised ethical and moral concerns about the privatisation of prisons (Cooper and Taylor, 2005; Taylor and Cooper, 2008). Cooper and Taylor (2005) identified that there is an issue with the level of resources being distributed across private prisons. The priority in prisons seemed to be focused on investing in the design of the prison, but this led to reducing the amount prison staff were paid. This resulted in less training and inexperienced staff, leading to higher rates of break outs in prisons. Therefore, it can be noted that prioritising the aesthetics of the prison, including the visiting room, often leads to cutbacks in other areas, including supporting staff. Coinciding with this, there has been evidence of prisons developing therapeutic initiatives to reform and to promote positive forms of health and well-​being, which can be a strong factor in maintaining contact with prisoners and their families. A good example is demonstrated at HMP Grendon, which delivers a host of therapeutic interventions including group work for prisoners and their loved ones. The delivery of interventions is a part of a systematic scheme to embed ‘therapy’ as a part of everyday activities for those imprisoned, and this includes family interventions. While it can be argued that finance/​resources are a key function to improve the quality of prison visits, it is also important to identify within this that ‘quality’ can also be linked to the interactions guided by the prison officers with prisoners and their families. The visiting room is considered an ‘exceptional space’ (Comfort, 2008; Moran, 2013a, 2013b, 2014; Jewkes and Laws, 2020) and this means that the emotions and experiences of that space are unique, that is, not replicated in the rest of the prison estate. For example, many male prisoners can perform forms of affection and care in the visiting room that may be hidden in other spaces in the prison, for example, the cells. It is important to consider that the visiting room has created significant memories for prisoners and their families, however, we need to not lose sight of the fact that a ‘prison is a prison’ and the principles of incarceration are driven by surveillance and social control. It is also important to be aware that for many of those imprisoned, the prison is a form of degradation and the idea of their loved ones visiting engenders a sense of shame and humiliation. Testimonies shared by families identified 29

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that imprisoned loved ones did not want them to visit due to the prison being quite a dark and challenging place. While it can be argued that there are moments of happiness, it is important not to overlook that there are also moments of sadness, anger, and despair for prisoners and their families. Across my prison journey, I took into account the multiple emotions that can be determined by the prison visiting room and how the room can be designed to facilitate the relationships between prisoners and their families. In this way some of the prisons I studied have been conscientious in promoting family-​like environments that have proven to result in positive experiences for families. However, we cannot ignore that these experiences take place within the confinements of the prison. Therefore, it is important to question on how practices of care can exist in institutions like the prison that is centred on punishment and surveillance. In this chapter, it is important to investigate in more detail the conceptualising of the prison visiting room as an ‘artificial home space’ by identifying key policies implemented to achieve ‘family-​orientated’ spaces. It is important to contextualise this to the extent on how far we can apply the concept of the ‘place of care’ to understand the purpose of the visiting room; and to go beyond understanding on how care is transformed inside the home. As mentioned, the work on families of prisoners has tended to conceptualise the interconnection of the inside and outside of the penal space as a mediator for prisoners to bond with loved ones; this is also known as ‘liminal space’ (Comfort, 2008; Moran, 2013). This liminal space has functioned as one in which both prisoners and families cross boundaries by entering the prison or as an alternate space to rekindle family ties. Now one can also describe this liminal space as a mediator to connect care and discipline and that the prison visiting room is a space that can implement policies and practices that are indicators of both care and discipline. Many prison visits are working towards a child-​friendly environment and the visiting space can be a mediator between the inside and outside of the prison. However, this idea of mediating forms of care and control is complex, which can be more detrimental than beneficial to prisoners and their families. To determine this, this chapter will explore the physical embodiments of the visiting room; and will then explore to what extent families have recreated an artificial home life to demonstrate forms of affection and care.

Children’s visits as symbolic of an ‘artificial home life’ Prison visits in Scotland are different from those in England, with a system of open, closed, and children’s visits. Open visits are predominantly for those on remand, and are available six days a week, which the convicted only receive weekly visits. There are also children’s visits –​the aims of these visits are to encourage further contact with less restrictions and 30

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security and an emphasis on ‘play’ to strengthen bonds between prisoners and their families. Many Scottish prisons embraced the need to facilitate children visits, with some prisons designing spaces that were only dedicated to family time. In essence, this contributes to the ‘Health Promotion in Prisons’ approach in Scotland (ScotPHO, 2021) focusing on tackling health inequalities in prisons by adopting a ‘human rights-​based approach both inside and outside the health centre with a positive and non-​judgemental approach’ (2021: 4). One of the criteria for engaging with families was to invest in visiting centres across Scotland and to partner with voluntary organisations to manage these sites, in which Woodall et al (2009) identified that visiting centres were imperative in improving health and well-​being outcomes. Nevertheless, the complexities of funding such visiting centres were inconsistent managed and many fall short of receiving governmental grants, which are always for a temporary period. Further to this, we can also take into consideration the emotions that contribute to the experiences of prisoners and their families in visiting a loved one in prison. For example, Woodall et al (Woodall and Kinsella, 2018) identifies the negative emotions revolving around the ‘come down’ after seeing a loved one in prison; and the uncertainty of when they will return. The whole process of visiting a loved one can contribute to anger, fear, and loneliness, however, these emotions are short-​lived and temporary. In 2013, the Scottish Prison Service (SPS) actioned two policies that overlapped with the Scottish government’s National Parenting Strategy and ‘Getting It Right for Every Child’ approach: the ‘Encouraging Family Contact’ policy and the ‘Children’s Visits’ policy. Following the UNCRC recommendation, there was a pertinent need to prioritise vulnerable groups, including those who are affected by parental incarceration, and the Scottish government actioned the need to improve circumstances for families of prisoners. On average children’s visits occur between three and five times a week, with a capacity of ten families per visit. At the time of conducting this research, children’s visits should have been implemented across all prisons nationwide and all prisoners should have been able to access this. As mentioned in Chapter 1, in 2015 the Scottish government worked towards an agenda in moving away from prison visits being seen as a privilege, and towards making sure that visits were a right. Prison visits should not be based on prisoners’ status that is implemented by the Incentive and Earned Privileges (IEP) system. This progressive stance underpins the Scottish government’s political intention to take seriously the UNCRC recommendations on prioritising the most vulnerable. However, families’ testimonies identified that these principles around prison visits were not necessarily shared by all prison officers. During a visit to HMP Shawshank, an officer spoke to me about how prisoners should behave during children’s 31

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visits –​she was direct about sanctioning men that did not ‘behave well’ in her perception. She spoke about an incident where she scolded a man for not paying enough attention to his child, in which she asserted that it was a privilege to see one’s child in that setting. While policies have iterated the need to make sure prison visits are a right, prison officers still hold the discretionary power to make decisions on who will access prison visits (or not). Historically, the Scottish system has upheld political ideologies incor­ porating the needs of the individual as a necessity. Influenced by the European Convention on Human Rights, the Scottish government invested in the need to strengthen human rights by embedding this into laws to take control of public services that were devolved by the Scottish government; this included education and the prison system. After the Brexit vote, there was much discussion on the need to remove EU law on the protections of children’s rights and, the Scottish Alliance for Children’s Rights (2017) argued that for many family courts there would even be more of a precedent to invoke Article 8 (Right to family life). However, the Scottish Centre for Conflict Resolution (SCCR) argued for caution, as many judges have misinterpreted Article 8 and did not utilise this article in its capacity to protect the rights of the child while making decisions about sentencing the parent. For many judges, there was a sense of discretion on whether they would invoke Article 8 when considering the factors associated with sentencing decisions. While there were many anxieties surrounding this, Scotland advocated the need to utilise the UNCRC to prioritise the rights of the child in all areas of life, and as a result there has been a greater need to invest in prison visits for families. Children’s visits come under the Children’s Visits policy that specifies clear aims, including: • Presumed inclusion for all, having regard to any child protection issues. • All children and young people under the age of 18 should be able to access these visits; and Offenders who can demonstrate an established relationship with a child/​young person should be able to access these visits (this is to ensure that grandparents, step-​parents etc. can access these visits). (Scottish Prison Service, n.d.) Children’s visits were designed to use aesthetics that were family orientated and to emphasise the importance of creating a personal space for prisoners and their families to affirm caring moments. There was a need to prioritise physical contact and to enable prisoners and their families to freely move around. This included granting access to recreational activities that were delivered in partnership with voluntary organisations including homework clubs or arts and crafts organisations. These activities created a temporary 32

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escape for children and their families from reminders of the prison wall (Comfort, 2008; Foster, 2019a, 2019b; Oldrup, 2019). The SPS advocated the need for families to participate in key stages of their loved one’s sentence: ‘SPS will actively encourage families to participate at key stages of relative’s sentence: Promoting family involvement in prison activities such as homework clubs, family days and special events’ (Scottish Prison Service, n.d.). Furthermore, there has been a campaign to initiate a Family Contact Officer (FCO) in each prison and to make sure that there is a middle person to facilitate the contact between prisoners and family members. While this has been implemented in 2015, there were still problems faced with recruitment and the high turnover rate of prison officers. Moreover, the FCO post was considered a low-​ranking position, so many prison officers were appointed to this position on a short-​term basis and only to progress in their careers. As a result, there were difficulties faced by prisons in recruiting for this position and in it being vacated for long periods of time. In principle, these policies sound progressive, however, there were many practical challenges for families to effectively engage for a consistent amount of time. Some of the examples included families sharing difficulties in attending children’s visits due to school hours or that it was too far to travel on a frequent basis. At the start of the global pandemic, the challenges intensified with further detrimental access for families to visiting their loved ones and for any type of contact to happen from the outside. As mentioned, all prison visits were suspended for a temporary period, but as time has progressed restrictions lessened with prison visits resuming with social distancing guidelines in place. The problem with social distancing guidelines is that the management of imprisoned parents’ engagement with children became more restrictive. Some prison campaigners advocating for further technologies to use video calls as an alternative to continue contact between prisoners and their loved ones; however, these campaign calls were redundant as there was little progress by policymakers to ensure this happened. The political changes are in parallel to how the prison has evolved over time. The architecture of the prison has intense implications on how relationships are strengthened between prisoners and their families.

Physical embodiment when visiting a prison ‘Architects are humans buildings for other humans’ (Fransson et al, 2018: 24). The physical space of a prison is embellished by the experiences, feelings, and life narratives of those imprisoned and their families. Architecturally, each prison I visited was different to the others; however, this may have been influenced by the prisons’ history. The oldest prison I conducted research in was a Victorian building located in the middle of a housing estate in 33

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one of the biggest cities in Scotland. It was bult in the 19th century, when penal scholars and bureaucrats had it in mind to install discipline and self-​governance by designing the prison to be open and visible for prison officers. Prisons were focused on the ‘ideas of surveillance; inspection and observation’ (Turner and Knight, 2020: 26), in which this was reflected in the legislation of the Prison Act 1939, Pentonville was established in 1842; the design of the cell restricted any type of contact among prisoners. In respect to my fieldwork, every visiting room space that I encountered was exceptional to the broader penal space. The visiting room space was unique as it didn’t embellish the cold-​hearted feelings associated with the Victorian-​style prison, rather it symbolised a type of progression that moves beyond the punishment of the offender. During my fieldwork, I was able to capture the movements and emotions expressed in the waiting room. My time at HMP Shawshank was the most intense –​the waiting room had no windows, the air conditioning was damaged, and it was filled with metal benches. At times, there would be no one in the prison waiting room with no other volunteers on shift, and I would spend long periods of time alone, due to the long gap between the start times of visits. The prison officers kept their distance, and for much of the time I would wait for the next visit in the local library near the prison. The physical space of prison visits can be described as a mediator between the inside and the outside of the prison that cuts across boundaries to the gateways to the cells or to the reception and then into the visiting room. In this book, it is important to recognise that the layout of the three prisons were architecturally different to one another and this had an impact on how families experienced prison visits. In the first week at HMP Toluca, I had the opportunity to take a tour of the prison to get an insight into the layout and the day-​to-​day operations. As I moved around, it became apparent that the prison was a microcosm of society. This magnified version replicated a community in that offered employment, health, and fitness spaces. The floors were shiny, and the walls were white with printed colourful signs, that is, bold letters on the walls that read ‘Library’ or ‘Multi-​f aith Room’. Historically, the prison used to be an army barracks which was commissioned by the government to build a prison. The design of HMP Toluca echoed many of the private prisons, both in terms of appeasing aesthetics and high-​level technologies, and architecturally, in that it was a newly built prison. The rooms were open plan spaces and there were no typical security features like metal stain doors and rigid locks. This prison reminded me of a college or a workplace setting, but this fell short, as many of the men had to wear some type of uniform to inform everyone around them that they were a prisoner, and these were bright-​red T-​shirts. While the prison 34

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design resembled outside spaces like college campuses, the presence of prison officers, the prisoners’ uniforms, and the sound of keys were all reminders of being in a prison and this had detrimental consequences for the families of prisoners. Upon one of my visits, Francine (a partner of a prisoner) spoke about the cleanliness of HMP Shawshank; she described HMP Toluca as being a lot cleaner and a lot better than HMP Shawshank, and that it didn’t look like “you are going into a prison”, which “makes a huge difference”: “Even the prison officers, some prison officers will bend over backwards, and there are ones who are complete ‘jobsworths’. But some of them are good and they sympathise with you. They make you feel comfortable especially when you have to come every other day.” At HMP Shawshank, there were aspects of the penal spaces that resembled the design of institutions on the outside: the prison halls were designed intentionally to move away from the aesthetics of the Victorian prison to create family-​orientated environments like a nursery. The hallways leading from the waiting room to the visiting room were sketched with cartoon characters to distract families with positive images. Interestingly, Francine identifies that the relationship between prison officers and families in these spaces retains the feeling of being in a prison, in that she describes a lot of them as being “complete jobsworths”. We can apply the concept of ‘caringscapes’ to penal design that evokes a friendly feeling and a sense of warmth that resonates with the home; however, at the same time, the presence of unhelpful and rude prison officers disassociates any feelings of being at home. The physical environment in part enabled families to move around the visiting room and to be able to reignite some form of intimacy. Although physical movement for many visits were limited, many families needed to rely on the so-​called ‘normal visits’. These were certainly not conducive to maintaining contact but there was also an emphasis on security over intimacy. For example, there were feelings of frustration that their children were unable to run around. This was demonstrated by Alexandra, who vented her frustration that her children were restricted in normal prison visits: “How can you tell two younger kids at a table to not move. The children’s visits are better that way.” Family members of prisoners such as Mary-​Beth described the seating arrangement in the visiting room –​she describes the tables as symbolic for keeping a distance between prisoners and families: ‘The other thing is when you are sitting at the tables you can’t even touch them because they are like focusing on you –​if you’re passing anything. There are tables between you because it is not like you are in a relaxed environment either. But you just try and make do with conversations.’ (Mary-Beth, wife, HMP Teddington) 35

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These were examples of barriers to being intimate and of being managed by regulations reinforcing forms of surveillance on prisoners and their families. Children’s visits were seen to be the progressive, as was observed by Muriel, who noted improvements in prisons. Muriel is a grandmother caring for her six grandchildren, her daughter, and her grandchildren’s father currently serving time. She decided to take full responsibility for their care and to try to maintain contact with their loved ones. Interestingly, Muriel also had long-​term experience in dealing with prisons; her father, ex-​husband, and now her daughter were imprisoned at different times, so for Muriel the prison has been a significant intergenerational issue in her family. Muriel reflects on her past experiences, when her ex-​husband was in prison and she would bring her children to see him and she describes that intimacy is non-​existent: “Like I said, I was bringing my children to see their dad we were talking through glass and we couldn’t make physical contact, and that was a big thing.” Muriel demonstrates the architectural changes that have been made in the visiting room over the years to maintain contact between prisoners and their families. She describes how, when she used to visit her ex-​husband, she would be looking directly at a glass screen and there was absolutely no physical contact. She continues that now she has been able to attend visits that enable her to participate in activities like singing and playing. Muriel attended prison visits regularly to ensure there was some type of contact between the father and her grandchildren, during his sentence. She found the children’s visits were a chance for her grandchildren to build a relationship with their father due to the fraught nature of pre-​incarceration. The freedom for families to move meant that they felt they were able to parent and to be in control. Echoing this, Sarah a single mother, states: ‘What’s really good about the family visits is you are allowed to get up and move around and he is allowed to come and sit beside us rather than sit in front of us. And you are allowed physical contact. In an everyday visit you are not allowed contact, you are straight across from the visit and all that much. So, the family visits are a lot more relaxed. It is a lot easier.’ (Sarah, wife, HMP Toluca) Aaron, a single father, and his wife were in prison for arson. He described that he had a toxic relationship with his wife. The children’s visits were described as a “place of sanctuary” to be able to experience a temporary “family life”. Prior to the incarceration, Aaron described his wife’s behaviour as “out of control”; and that he found that the visiting space enabled him to take control and to manage his relationship with his wife. He followed this up by saying that the children’s visits also enabled his wife to have an opportunity to care for their children; and to essentially take on parts of the 36

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caring role: “And it is a lot easier between this visit and the other visit and you are not allowed to get out of your seat.” These sites were pivotal to strengthening the role of family ties, but also gave families a purpose to move beyond incarceration. Later in this book, these discussions will continue by exploring in more detail families’ feelings on experiencing a sense of belonging in the visiting room space.

A sense of belonging Families of prisoners are most likely to use the visits as a space to rebuild new relations as well as to relive memories with their loved ones in prison (Comfort, 2008; Moran and Keninan, 2012; Moran and Disney, 2018). There was a sense of belonging that resonated with the domestic sphere of the home however, the experiences of families were defined by how they constructed their time. This contributes to the existing literature that identifies how family time is absent when a loved one is incarcerated (Kotova, 2020). As previously mentioned, Bowlby (2012) argues that time is interconnected with space that can be used to construct memories as well as practices of care. In the context to this study, many families identified that quality time is based on sharing memories about family life before imprisonment and that quality time is exchangeable by sharing memories as well reinforcing certain roles that can be linked to heterosexual gender constructions of masculinity and femininity. Moran and Disney (2018) identified that intimate private moments were shared in public settings, such as the prison visiting room –​ that is, the visiting room evolves to take on projections of the outside, for example, cafés. The binary distinctions between public/​private can be argued to be more fluid in the context of these settings. In the visiting room, eating together is a key contributor for family life; food assists in the reunification of prisoners and their families and in experiencing a sense of normality (Comfort, 2008; Jardine, 2019). It is also important to note that this degree of normality is often restricted due to the lack of choice of food as well as the financial implications of buying food. Muriel describes her rights as an informal carer in connection to food as follows: “Right, you buy your tokens, so you can get some food, however, this doesn’t come cheap.” She continues to explain that this is another example of the costly element in looking after children as an informal carer: ‘You need to fill this form and there are a lot of people telling me what to do [she speaks in reference to the social services]. Right, how much you get and why you can’t afford it. You are grovelling, I will rather starve. Right, there is no help whatsoever off the government.’ (Muriel, mother-in-law, HMP Toluca) 37

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Madeline also describes that food can be significant to break up time in the visiting room. Madeline is a grandmother –​her son is serving a long-​term sentence and she currently shares caring responsibilities for her grandson. Like Muriel, she is another regular visitor that has access to children’s visits, she is also a family member that I met from HMP Teddington. At the time we spoke, the prison officers were preparing for Halloween –​they were decorating the waiting and visiting room as well as planning a trick or treat day for the children. Madeline spoke about her grandson being excited to trick or treat and to enjoy some company with his dad. Madeline used food as an indicator for father and son to bond, however, she also hinted that food provided her son and grandson a chance to bond without her presence. While this may be small, she describes seeing her son buy his son (Madeline’s grandson) a packet of crisps and using this time to parent: ‘Well, my son can get up and go to the canteen and buy crisps. He will go up and he can go over and play the computer with him [her grandson]. He can walk about with him and kick a ball. It is good. I am left sitting there right enough, but I don’t mind because it is their time. The son will reply “Mum, I feel rotten doing this”, I said “Nah you go ahead and I can spend time when I go back.” ’ (Madeline, mother, HMP Toluca) Moran and Disney (2019) describe the experience of fathering in prisons as ‘situated fathering’; and many fathers are confined to perform parenthood in the context of the influences of behaviour and attitudes in response to the prison. The authors identified that fathers felt a sense of awkwardness and the lack of physical freedom, and many felt constrained and immobile and thus unable to play with their children. Similarly, in this study, children’s visits were the only space to re-​enact the full extent of ‘situated fathering’; and for many families, they were grateful to the prison for creating a space in doing care. While this is the case, families also described the space as being too bureaucratic and constrained by regulations. Moran and Disney (2019) found that some fathers felt they were very protective and cautious among other prisoners, especially those who were considered as ‘vulnerable prisoners’, including sex offenders, as well as prison officers. Resembling this, Chloe and Ricardo felt conflicted about whether the prison visit was based on the ‘case’ or exercised forms of social control. Chloe summed up her experiences of visiting by comparing it to home life: ‘They can get up and bond with them. Unlike the other ones, where he cannae move. So, the children’s visits are much better. It is not bad. It is like they’re in the house and they can do things together. And my son is not stuck on the seat and my daughter is often playing by herself. So they are alright.’ (Chloe, wife, HMP Toluca) 38

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Ricardo became informal carer to his five grandchildren after both of his daughters were convicted to 20 years in prison. I spoke to Ricardo in a café and he described his frustration with the prison as well as feelings of being shamed and punished, but he also described that the visits were significant to strengthen relationships between mother and daughter. He describes: ‘There is a little playroom, but the girls from outside run that. They are lovely. Our Jade looks forward to it. She goes and does painting and gives it to her mum and that. And that is good … they are literally without them being there, but without them being there it would be horrendous. They give a little bit of dignity wherein the others take it from ya. There is no need to, you know –​what’s the word for it –​ like they are looking down on ya.’ (Ricardo, father, HMP Blakedown) Ricardo is referring to the charity that runs the visiting area and this includes the play area in the waiting room. For Ricardo, care is affiliated with the presence of voluntary staff rather than prison officers; the absence of prison officers in the playroom means that family members like Ricardo feel a sense of freedom due to the presence of the voluntary staff. Ricardo’s depiction resonates with geographers’ contemplation of care in punitive settings. Yet while there are markers of care, these are small and sporadic and for many prisoners and their families they can often be based on interactions with staff members, as I recorded in my field notes: ‘The ladies who run the play area’ were symbolic to escape from the authoritarian controls in the visiting room; and this includes creative activities and toys contributes to feelings of belonging. We can argue that emotions are interchangeable, and it can be hard to separate the environment and the individual. Crawley (2004) describes the prison as a map of emotional zones, and how these emotions are confined to institutional norms and values. However, emotions are influenced by gendered norms of performing markers of masculinity and femininity; for example, Crewe et al (2014) argued that emotions were masked in a male establishment and for many men there was a sense of fear in exposing any positive emotions. These positive emotions consisted of being caring, loving, and affectionate, where this is commonly accepted on the outside with loved ones. Jewkes and Laws (2020) described the visiting space in women’s prisons as an ‘exceptional space’, in which were identified a mixture of emotions. However, the authors considered this a free space for women to perform to their authentic selves. Relative to this, many families performed their authentic selves because they were freely able to express feelings of care to their incarcerated loved ones. This was also amplified by many of the parents in prisons being able to engage in play and creative activities. 39

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Many families had the opportunity to observe changes with their partners in adopting caring responsibilities in the prison visit room that were not always evident prior to the incarceration period. This included fathers adopting caring responsibilities. Alexandra, a mother of two, identified sharing childcare responsibilities in the visiting room, with her partner taking part in a book club, playing games, and joining cooking classes: ‘Maybe some of the things he can’t do, maybe it has helped him to do that kind of thing … it is stuff that we do when we get home like painting or jigsaws. It is quite good because they have got the book club that on a Tuesday as well, he even quite likes that “cause they sit in a circle”, so they play games, so they quite enjoy that. It’s a bit like nursery and all that kind of thing. Like my wee girl is closer to me obviously, so they are all kind of doing it when they are there. Then they read a story out and then do a craft activity. And they make fairy cakes and they make iced biscuits and things. So, it is quite good they can do those kinds of things. He likes making biscuits because he can eat them, he quite enjoys them.’ (Alexandra, wife, HMP Toluca) Karen reiterated the need for her partner to be in the know about their daughter’s education: ‘Any certificates stuff like that Frankie gets, [for example] star of the week. So, I just bring it up, they told me I can bring it up. She got a badge for swimming stage 2 and different things, a certificate and all that. I just asked if I can take it in, and I was able to take it in. But I don’t think there is any other way.’ (Karen, wife, HMP Toluca) Interestingly, most mothers at HMP Toluca spoke about the importance of reconnecting with their partners by participating in activities that were once considered to be only the mother’s role prior to incarceration. However, some mothers, like Katie, were weary of bringing their children to the prison to visit an incarcerated parent. I was introduced to Katie by the FCO. She described her situation as “different to the other women she met in the prison visiting room”. She wanted it to be known to me that she came from a good family and her partner was a good man. She spoke about this in relation to her husband’s business and how he got caught up in something that had nothing to do with him. Katie’s husband was on remand at the time, and Katie was awaiting his trial. She described HMP Toluca as somewhere that “could be worse” and, in fact, she trusted the FCOs: ‘When you walk in here, it is not bad. It is better. It makes it easier to come in for the first time. It makes it easier for the kids. Not that 40

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I am bringing mine in. I suppose even in the visiting room, it makes it easier. It is more normal.’ (Katie, wife, HMP Toluca; emphasis added) While she observed the prison’s efforts in providing a family-​friendly space, she also noted that she did not want to bring her daughter there and she was adamant that this was not going to happen. Katie described feeling comfortable in visiting her partner, but that there was still a need to protect her daughter. While she advocated that her partner was a great dad, she said that “there are too many things visiting a prison that are beyond your control and you cannot fully take control in protecting your children”. She also hinted that her daughter was not aware that her dad was in prison and that she was making a conscious effort to hide the truth. Katie described her nightly routine, in which she told her daughter that her father was working away from home and that he would phone her: “There are a couple of times; I have told her he has come at night when she was asleep. And then told her he had to leave home early in the morning.” Katie went on to say that she takes out her partner’s suit and leaves it on the bed for her daughter to see, so it is seen as an indicator that her dad is getting changed there at night-​time. Many family members like Katie argued that a prison is still a prison (Carlen, 2002) –​the meanings of a prison are so deeply attached to negativity, and so it is hard to protect a child’s innocence. The way to hide the truth from her daughter was to continue (as much as possible) with the family routine. All these examples were families that described a sense of belonging in an exceptional space, however, these acts can also be depicted as ‘doing caringscapes’, that are based on the interactions of those who are cared for and those who are caring.

‘Doing caringscapes’ As mentioned, we can use Bowlby’s interpretation of ‘caringscapes’ to embrace key examples of performance enacted in the prison visiting room. These modes of caring are heavily linked to the power dynamics that occur between the cared and those who are caring. However, for this section of the chapter we are going to shift to centre on the dynamics that are linked to families as ‘the ones who are caring’ and their loved ones in prison (and children) as ‘the ones being cared for’. It is important to argue that prisons have control over how care is shaped for prisoners and their families, but it is important to illustrate that families experience other spaces of care that go beyond the prison, including spaces like the home and the welfare state. Furthermore, spaces of care are made up of many complex social meanings and emotions that can differ both ‘spatially and temporally’. In the context of families’ testimonies, it can be argued that the ‘spaces of care’ are also 41

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shaped by social inequalities, including financial deprivation. Many families in this study were from disadvantaged areas that shaped the dynamics of care between families and their respective loved ones in prison. While there are some testimonies from male relatives, it is important to identify that caring practices are predominantly performed by females; and examples of ‘doing care’ have led to many families’ identities changing over a period to accommodate their loved ones in the incarceration process. This can be defined as developing ‘liminal identities’ in regard to the relationship between the individual and the social structure. Most of the female relatives interviewed for this study weaved through the processes of the incarceration period by adopting roles that were institutionally favourable to gain access to their loved ones, but also still be able to obtain some form of agency during this process. Families’ identities were in-​between being shaped by the demands of incarceration and managing a way of coping with the incarceration period. Many relatives’ ‘doing care’ adopted multiple identities/​selves that existed in response to tackling issues of inequalities. The intersection of gender and social class are tangible to understand the many complexities that are faced by many of our relatives and how they assume their caring responsibilities. Taking into consideration Bowlby’s proposition of care, we can align ‘obligation and reciprocity’ to apply to families’ roles to pursue some type of support for their loved ones’ incarceration. Obligation and reciprocity are centred on specific caring duties to meet the needs of their loved ones that are imprisoned as well as those on the outside. For example, Katie spoke about the traditional norms that were adopted in her home prior to incarceration: ‘I think it is the fact that he was just taken away from us. And there was no preparation. He owns a business. So, I have had to learn how to pay their wages, how to run the guys, I had to go off my own work stressed. … Yeah we got every fortnight and then we go up. I would say he worked away quite a lot, he does work long hours because he is constantly on the phone or dealing with the business. So, he is not a full-​time dad. You can’t rely on him to pick her up and drop her off. So it is me that does all of that. So that doesn’t change for her, but just having him around, especially at the weekend to take her to do stuff. That’s obviously impacted.’ (Katie, wife, HMP Toluca) The ambiguity of the incarceration process led to Katie adopting the assumed paternal roles –​this included managing her partner’s business. The absence of her partner led to additional responsibilities: of maintaining some type of ‘normality’, but also to make sure the ‘secret’ of her partner’s incarceration was not disclosed. Katie’s identity assumed several selves –​this included 42

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the paternal self, the professional self, and the anonymous self. However, many families identified that ‘reunification’ was central to developing relationships in prison with their loved ones. Interestingly, many families I spoke to identified that relationships changed over time for the better, however, this was not absolute, and in some cases incarceration severely disrupted relationships. Due to his daughters’ incarceration, Ricardo’s life changed and his identity as a father and grandfather merged into one. His ties with his family were estranged prior to his daughters’ incarceration. After his daughters’ incarceration, he had taken responsibility for his grandchildren and his wife. However, he described that he “stepped up” to care for his grandchildren and his wife. His wife had a long-​term illness and was struggling to cope by herself. He asked himself how his daughters’ incarceration had impacted his life: ‘I used to live separately from them, I used to live in Wellesley in a caravan and that’s gone now. I had to move into my daughter’s house and take over the house and look after the two kids. … I got to be up at half six, because Leon [his grandson] must be up at seven. I wake Leon up at seven and do his breakfast. Take Leon to the bus stop, because of the trouble he was having. Take him to the bus stop, wait until he gets on the bus. Then I wake up the other two, get Kieran ready and the baby. Stephanie does her hair. The only thing I can’t do, I can’t do her hair. I can brush it and she does her ponytail. I can’t do her ponytail, her ponytail goes everywhere. I bathe her, wash her, and dress her and give them breakfast, then I take them to school. Put them in school, I do their packed lunch. Soon as I get home from school I start cleaning up. Then, I got to work out what they are having for tea and I do them their tea. Start doing the tea and oh, I put the wash on, that’s my day.’ (Ricardo, father, HMP Blakedown) He speaks about the detailed caring responsibilities that were once assumed by his daughter. Ricardo is a tall and burly character, and he talks to me with such pride about his care for his grandchildren. His grandchildren range in age from two to 16 years old. He speaks about his caring responsibilities such as taking them to school and performing domestic tasks in the home. Ricardo touches upon caring for his oldest grandchild –​Leon. Leon’s father is of Black heritage and he speaks about the difficulties Leon has faced with school and the police. Ricardo speaks about the challenges faced in raising his Black grandson during his mother’s incarceration. He exposes the racism that his son experiences from the police and the need to be overzealous in protecting his grandson. Prior to his daughters’ incarceration, he spoke about living alone in a caravan and was not present in his daughters’ lives when they were growing 43

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up. However, during the incarceration period, he described that he had to take on the father, grandfather, and husband role all at once, and he became the main carer. Most of the care was previously assumed by the women in his family, but this changed after his daughters were incarcerated, with him taking on the caring responsibilities. There is also a feeling of being trapped in-​between caring for his daughters and his grandchildren. He is torn and dismayed by the fact that he has no energy to help with his daughters’ cases. At this time, both of his daughters had been sentenced to 22 years and they were applying to appeal their sentence. Ricardo speaks about his lack of energy for taking care of his daughters due to the amount of time it takes to care for his grandchildren. He states, “I am not being nasty to them but mine is a long day and you go ‘I will try and do it tomorrow’. I then say distinctly no one comes to the case, they go to deal with that and they need to go to their solicitors.” Feelings of being trapped were also expressed with regards to telling the truth to his wife. As he tells me this, he starts to tear up, as he narrates these words I could feel his pain. He continues, “But I can’t tell her, right. I gotta put a brave face on, but she forgets overnight when I am lying there –​this is when the demons hit you.” Bowlby determines that ‘doing care’ should also be focused on how social relationships are constructed and activities that are used to frame these relationships. Many families identified that social relationships were about appropriating certain multiple selves, like in the case of Kate and Ricardo. To add to this, families’ identities were intersected with multiple selves that were finding ways to cope with and adjust to the demands of incarceration. These selves were based on protecting others, however, these overly exhausted families also adopt emotions of feeling torn, trapped, and not being able to disclose the entire truth. Emily did not disclose her partner’s incarceration to others due to the nature of his offence. In fact, she tells her family that she is on a ‘break’ so her family not getting suspicious. I met with Emily at HMP Shawshank’s visiting room, standing in the corner. She was very timid but wanted to speak about her experiences of having a loved one in prison. A scientist from Scotland, she met her partner at work, however, her partner was convicted of a sex offence involving a young child and she is adamant about his innocence. She spoke to me about the best way to survive the incarceration period, and she focused on the need to keep it to herself. The sense of adjustment was also moving away from an old life and into a new life. She explains to me: ‘Not having anyone to talk to … nobody knows. None of his family or my family know. Nobody knows. I don’t think I will tell him, I said to my family we are having a time out, but no I [have] not thought any further ahead. I don’t tell them I am coming up to the prison, and if they call to see where I am, I say I am at the shops. Or there 44

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has been times I say I am coming to see Patrick, so not really a lie … but they don’t know where he is.’ (Emily, girlfriend, HMP Shawshank) Further to this, we can also look back to Bowlby’s analysis, we can draw on the concept of ‘caringscapes’, in which individual activities affect how the connection of time and space can evolve and change. For many, the acts of caring evolve depend on the length of the sentence. In the case of Francine, she decided to move closer to the prison –​however, this decision affected her son’s education: ‘We needed to adjust a lot. We had to move to the south, which was nearer the prison. My son has autism and ADHD, and he goes to a special school. Now that has closed down, I have ended up travelling further away. Now we must get up at eight and travel long distances. Before he was convicted, it was easier, as he was able to take one child and I would look after the other.’ (Francine, wife, HMP Toluca) For Karen, she distinguishes two roles: a carer and a mum. She speaks about having to adopt both roles because her daughter has special needs. She describes: ‘I am a carer to Hannah, but I am also a mum. I am down as a carer, because my daughter has special needs. But I think you can be a carer at the same time. I think it’s important as well. Well Mohammed is in here, so you need to man up and just got to do it.’ (Karen, wife, HMP Toluca) Amy, a mother of three, found my contact details on a poster I had put up at HMP Blakedown. She was very well spoken, and she felt it was only necessary to share her story with me about her mother’s and father’s incarceration. Amy was from a middle-​class background lived in a small village in the North-​East. Her parents’ incarceration was well publicised in the local news due to their conviction. I met Amy at a coffee shop located in a museum which she recommended. While both parents were incarcerated, Amy had an estranged relationship with her father, so she only shared the effects of incarceration with her mother being absent. I sensed that Amy blamed her father for involving her mother, which led to her mother’s incarceration and her being absent from the family home. Amy spoke about being close to her four other sisters and growing up in a small village that was close knit. She described that her mum was heavily involved with her kids. ‘She has been involved in different ways through their lives –​they are aged 15, 12, and seven. Having them one night each a week, so she can help us out, help them with their homework … [it was] really nice for them. She was very much all about her grandchildren. And 45

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the youngest has got down syndrome and so mum was very involved with him. She was one of his carers really. She was a big part of his life. So that’s been quite a big change.’ (Amy, daughter, HMP Blakedown) Interestingly, Amy’s mother was very involved in the responsibilities of caring for her grandchildren and her absence had led Amy to take on extra caring duties for her youngest with down syndrome. Amy’s identity also adopted the ‘anonymity self ’, as she did not disclose the whereabouts of her mother to her son. She said, “nobody told my son where his grandmother was, he thought his granny went on holiday. We said she was away. He has down syndrome. So, he would not be able to comprehend, and he hasn’t got a great understanding of time, so the inconsistencies of visiting her will be complicated.” This anonymity also resonated with other families, including Katie. Anonymity was adopted to be a mask for her friends and work colleagues, she was so ashamed of her partner being incarcerated and became worried about the reaction of her work colleagues: ‘The only person I have told, I have told my boss and I told one of my friends and that’s [it] –​everybody else thinks I am off sick. There has been pregnancy and all that floating around because of my age and the rest of it there. I think they think I am pregnant, or I have bad morning sickness or something. That’s all the rumours I heard.’ (Katie, wife, HMP Toluca) The rumours of being pregnant Katie normalised as a distraction to take away any indication that her partner was in prison. Some families, like Sophie, identified that this need to cover up a partner’s incarceration was quite difficult as children grew older. Sophie said that, “We told her he [her father] is at work, but I don’t think she believes it. I think she kind of knows a bit now because she can read, and we call them [prison officers] security officers.” Also, the consequential effects of being ambiguous with the truth leads to children missing their parents even more. Ebony is a grandmother and her daughter is currently in prison. Her daughter has been incarcerated twice, due to crimes relating to her drug addiction. I met Ebony in a coffee shop next to where I used to reside in Scotland, and funnily enough this is where she lived as well. She was close to her two granddaughters and was caring for them while her daughter was incarcerated. Ebony touched upon her anonymous self in explaining that her youngest granddaughter was unaware of her mother’s incarceration. She said that her granddaughter thought her mum was in hospital and would ask ‘when am I going to be able to see my mum?’ There is ambiguity about disclosing the truth, there are consequences for the experiences of children with parents incarcerated. Many families describe their children’s disillusionment about the whereabouts of their parents. 46

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While we have focused on adult relatives, we also need to identify that the liminal period for children has detrimental effects on their stages in life. During the period of incarceration, children feel confused and this can be intensified when they visit their incarcerated parents. Parents spoke about the fact that many young children felt disorientated about the penal space, as many were not too sure where they were and were often told that their mum or dad was in hospital or a place of work. While there are parts that can be deemed as a place of care, families are still very protective of children when it comes to knowing the truth, with many children not having a full understanding of the whereabouts of their parents. Many families are aware that not disclosing the whereabouts of their parents to children will be short-​ lived and as they get older this can lead to a stage of confusion. The effects of imprisonment have been contributing heavily to the emotional turmoil of Aaron’s children. He describes that in the aftermath of visiting his wife, the children are left with emotional scars that carry into nursery and school: ‘The little fella is naughty when I pick him up from nursery … and he was asking about mum “working at a hospital and how big it is”. Little things like that, it is obviously playing on their mind a bit because they are talking about it. They do think about it. I think the little girl is more of aware of what’s going on, the little fella is too small. With my little girl, she knew about everything that was going on and could see what her mum was like, so she was a bit up and down. But all Olivia does is moan I want this and I want that … all the time, but she is only like this at home and not like that at school. Why? I think she is missing her mum and she was never like that. The last few months she has just got worst, she was never like that.’ (Aaron, father, HMP Blakedown) The absence of a parent for children led to psychological and emotional trauma and for many families, there was a sense of fear that visiting prisons would intensify this. The emotions children experience have been described by parents as confusion and partial disorientation due to not being able to understand what type of space they are entering. The absence of parenting led to those imprisoned and their families using the prison visits to create a space of comfort to relive memories of happier times. Mariah was a mother of one, and her partner had been incarcerated for several years. Her partner had a big family with five siblings and Mariah’s daughter had many cousins. I met with Mariah at the local library, she was open about the need to not disclose her partner’s incarceration to her daughter: ‘I worry about Georgina with all of her cousins. They are all older, so they all know he is in prison, she is the only one. I think one of 47

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them said [something] to her –​she didn’t know what prison was –​she said no my dad is at work to make money. So, she thinks he is going to work to make money, so they can go bowling.’ (Mariah, girlfriend, HMP Blakedown) However, for some families, the need to not disclose extends further than children. Many families argued the need to ascribe the prison to a different space so as to protect their children from performing acts that contribute to attributes of ‘caringscapes’. These examples of ‘care’ are more likely to be intensified by the prison system; in which heightens further inequalities.

Conclusion The penal institution promotes the idea that the visiting room can be a family-​friendly environment. However, these spaces are also deemed as being exceptional to the rest of the prison and not all prisons run in sync to promote these artificial home-​like spaces. This chapter drew on scholars of ‘geographies of care’ to understand that the visiting room as an exceptional space and to identify that some of the qualities are linked to elements of care. There is also a conclusion that this artificial home enables families to perform gender specific roles that are related to the home to adopt roles that were important prior to incarceration. While families identify the medium of this space is conducive to experiencing a domestic space and to reaffirming traditional heteronormative roles, this does not eradicate overall challenges during the incarceration period. It is only right to identify that this space can only produce elements of care in a very short space of time. In this study, the prisons did invest financially in resources that were linked to play, that is, toys, arts and crafts, etc., however, it was families that were mainly responsible for how care would be managed. This chapter extended this discussion by going beyond the visiting space as a place of care to exploring ‘doing care’ in other parts of families’ outside of the prisons. This ‘doing care’ is based on families adopting multiple selves due to accommodating the needs of those imprisoned and their children. Much of these discussions captured the extent to which families enact different caring responsibilities for both those imprisoned and their children. Many families spoke about the shift in power markers that were based on adopting differing roles from prior to during incarceration. All of these examples of care were based on the relationship with how space and time evolved. This chapter provides a deeper understanding to how we can conceptualise ‘care’ from the inside to the outside of prison spaces, but most importantly on how the role of care changes through time. The next chapter will carry forward some of these discussions by focusing on how families experience the inside and outside of the prison by depicting spaces that are regulated and controlled. 48

4

Regulated spaces As highlighted in Chapter 2, it can be argued that a political shift towards a neoliberal agenda has changed the principles of care in the public sector, in which, governmental policies have been instrumental to rolling back public services but at the same time, the governmental agenda has pushed towards the need to value the ideal of a ‘sense of individualisation and personal responsibility’. Families of prisoners are an example of a vulnerable group that are most likely to receive backlash from policies that underpin these principles which have a great impact on how families are able to access public service resources including financial support. The policies that have led to these substantial changes in the UK criminal justice and welfare systems include the rise of governmental cutbacks, ‘governing at a distance’ (Muncie, 2005: 37), enforcing ‘responsibilisation’ (Garland, 1996), and the overuse of surveillance, in both prisons and welfare (Drake and Muncie, 2009; Gilliom, 2009; Wacquant, 2009). In Chapter 3, I argued that the perimeters of the prison visiting room contribute to families performing aspects of ‘family life’, however, it is important to argue that the prison is still predominantly driven by social controls that can harm the experiences of families of prisoners. In this chapter, I conceptualise the role of surveillance regarding the visiting room and will extend this to exploring social control mechanisms on the outside of the prison, including services from the welfare system, which can be categorised as ‘welfare surveillance’. However, it is important to understand how both the prison and welfare systems are interconnected with each other and how both spaces exercise forms of surveillance to affect the experiences of families. Feminist and carceral geographers identify that surveillance is embedded in institutions like the prison system and this can affect the social relationships within the prison system and beyond (Baer and Ravenberg, 2008; Moran, 2013a, 2013b; Piacentini and Slade, 2015; Bartlett and Eriksson, 2018). The use of surveillance within prison visits has impinged on the relationships between prisoners and their families, due to the association of high levels of regulation and security. Moran argued that families of prisoners experience feelings of ‘quasi-​institutionalisation’ for a temporary period. This concept can be experienced in different spaces in the prison, point of entry security, the waiting room, and in the visiting room. 49

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As mentioned in Chapter 3, the prison visiting room can resemble aspects of creating an ‘artificial’ home environment and can create a sense of ‘normality’ that provides ‘comfortable living environments’ (Jewkes and Moran, 2014: 702), however it is important to note this is only short lived due to the principles of punishment overshadowing the practices of care. Many families do not find the visiting room to be a place of care but rather a means to be exposed and a violation of their privacy. In fact, Baer and Ravenberg (2008: 207) argue that ‘feelings of confinement will vary by the individual’; this has largely been ignored by Goffman (1961), who presents an abstract view that ignores individual experiences, emotions, and the intersection of social identity. The feelings of violation will be an area to touch on for this chapter to understand the perils of surveillance for families of prisoners. To get back to my previous point, existing literature (Waquant, 2009; Miller, 2014, 2017) has identified that it is important to understand how the welfare and prison state has merged into one and how this can impact on the most vulnerable including families of prisoners. Wacquant’s (2009) ‘punishing the poor’ provides a theoretical context to the relationship with the between prison and welfare state, in which, from a historical context, Wacquant looks at different periods in history to understand how surveillance has been used to confine Black communities in the US from slavery to the Crow eras then to the rise of the ‘ghetto’ and now the means of mass incarceration. Interestingly, Wacquant identifies that the features of the welfare system resemble those of the prison system and notes that the ‘ghetto’ is symbolic as a mediating space connecting the welfare to the prison state. If we take this further, we can contextualise this by understanding that families of prisoners are continuously affected by entering the prison and welfare spaces. Echoing Wacquant’s (2012: 237) perspective that there is a need to ‘reconnect social and penal policies and treat them as two variants of penal policy’, Miller (2017) argues that vulnerable groups, like those released from prison are trapped in the system that can be considered as a form of ‘carceral citizenship’, in which, each person needs to adhere to the three tenements of crime control practices, including the criminal justice system, and the welfare state, including social security and social services. He characterises these with three features: confinement of the poor, rigid surveillance processes, and a need for a reformative process that is shifted on to families to take responsibility for former prisoners. Miller makes the point that families are responsible for integrating ex-​prisoners back into the community, however, this is with little assistance from the welfare state. In this chapter, we can take the theoretical underpinnings of carceral citizenship to help understand a part of the experiences of families of prisoners and how families’ identities can be shaped by the controls that are inherent in carceral citizenship. 50

Regulated spaces

Drawing on the key ideas, this chapter will focus on the interrelationship between the penal and welfare state and how the features of surveillance within these spaces have an impact on the experiences and emotions of families of prisoners. Furthermore, this chapter will continue the conversation that looks at how social control mechanisms in the prison visiting room can shape relational dynamics on the outside of the prison, including the home and institutions such as the welfare system. The welfare system is connected to all aspects of governance, including social security, social services, and health services, with which all families have had contact in one way or another. This chapter will first focus on the concept of penal surveillance and then on exploring the welfare system to contribute to the discussion on surveillance as a concept that contributes to the experiences of families of prisoners that intensify feelings of exclusion and criminalisation and can invoke emotions around fear, judgement, and shame.

Penal architecture and surveillance Prison architecture presents a distinct contribution to illustrating the feelings and experiences of families in relation to how the waiting and visiting room is situated (Grant and Jewkes, 2015). At HMP Toluca, there was an emphasis on integrating a family-​friendly atmosphere that is typical of newly built prisons, in comparison to HMP Shawshank (a Victorian prison), which has only adopted a family-​friendly approach in certain spaces of the prison including a designated family room and decorative art in the passageway leading up to the visiting room. Across all three prison visits (despite the architectural differences), the visiting rooms all had very similar layouts with regards to where the seats and tables were positioned. Each table was firmly screwed to the floor with three seats opposite to one. However, with HMP Toluca, the so-​called ‘new’ prison, the layout was designed to create the impression of a coffee shop. This temporary period of institutionalisation has led to families having to appropriate certain types of behaviour to conform to the regulations of the prison. In most of the prisons I was able to engage in a tour of the prison to see beyond the waiting and visiting room. However, since HMP Shawshank’s security procedures were very different to the other two, I was only able to enter the main visiting room for all families and the visiting room where children’s visits took place. There were two FCOs and voluntary workers from ‘The Hut’; the FCOs spoke about how the families were able to take part in the children’s visits. The children’s visit area was made up of soft chairs, in each section there were three chairs and a table. Referring to the earlier argument relating to HMP Toluca, the layout is designed to remove the feeling of surveillance by adding amenities that contribute to another image, separate from the identifying objects that can be associated with the prison. Being imprisoned in a certain prison was like 51

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a ‘lottery’ draw –​it was randomly selected when being sentenced. However, for many of those incarcerated, they have a chance to apply to transfer from one prison to another, through which, for many families they can observe the differences across each prison. I met Tracey in the visiting room, she was with her daughter and she was seeing her partner in HMP Shawshank. As Tracey states: “I like Toluca, but my partner’s brother is in Shawshank and it is horrendous over there. The smell is horrible, the conditions are horrendous, the prison staff are rude, and you can’t move anywhere.” Similar to my observation, Tracey touches upon the smell of the prison and describes this a bleach smell that is overpowering as well as contributing to feeling sterile many visiting families. While Toluca’s environment approximated a ‘sense of normality’ for both prisoners and their families, many families still felt their privacy was violated. Ricardo was infuriated with how the prison officers treated him while he was going to see his daughters: ‘I have never been in trouble in my life, but I feel like a criminal when I go in there [the prison]. It’s the way they do it. They could turn out literally, they don’t … you get one or two, literally decent human beings, the others, they got this chip on their shoulder. They have got this uniform on they think they are the big “I am”. They took their liberty away by locking them up, don’t degrade them and degrade their parents or their husbands, or someone that comes to see them. There is no need for that.’ (Ricardo, father, HMP Blakedown) These feelings of degradation also led to feelings around shame and emotions and feeling like he was also incarcerated, which could echo some of the sentiments of Moran’s ‘quasi-​institutionalisation’. Francine identified that prison officers do not see families as a separate group but a part of the imprisoned population: “Some of them judge you like you have done the crime. The way they speak to you. The way they look at you.” While prison visits in Scotland were excluded from the IEP system, there was still a strong sense among prison officers that they should be treated as a privilege and not a right. The need to reinforce a code for appropriate behaviour based on what is seen to be a ‘good father’ had an impact on how prisoners bonded with their loved ones in the visiting room. Thus it can be argued that the implications of policy, in some cases, are not filtering down to those on the front line of the prison services, which has led to the perception that there is a hierarchy between types of visits that are perceived as being privileged and those that are not. In contribution to this, it is also important to note that the definition of ‘family’ has been critiqued, there has been an assumption that it is linked to heterosexual ideals of what constitutes a family. There is also little inclination to extend this definition of ‘family’ to 52

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accommodate carers, in which extended family, for example, grandparents and aunts, can take on the responsibility of children. Denise, a grandmother, was incarcerated and her daughter Amy was one of the main family members to visit her. She found the children’s visits only accommodated to mothers and not grandmothers, which excluded her from bonding with her grandchildren. Denise started the dialogue with: ‘I didn’t have any children, so it doesn’t count. A lot of the things were mothers reading to their children. They won’t allow grandmothers to do that. We weren’t involved in family days either. [The daughter counteracted]: even though previously you would count as the family carer. My children really were involved heavily in your life, and they didn’t take account of that … I was very upset when I was denied ROTL, because of my status as a grandmother. There is no recognition for grandmothers in prison.’ (Denise, formerly incarcerated and mother of Amy) Although children’s visits were perceived to be accessible, many families had to adhere to a stringent criteria-​based selection process. Interestingly, prior to incarceration, Denise was heavily involved with and could be considered as a main carer for one of her grandchildren that was disabled. Unfortunately, for Denise she did not meet the criteria that would enable her grandchildren to visit with her on a family visit, and we can extend the argument that this is a form of surveillance. There was an acknowledgement that the grandmother was not entitled to take part in the children’s visits, even though the grandmother was the main carer for Amy’s children before she was imprisoned. Denise’s role as a main carer before imprisonment was not a consideration when deciding whether she could be a part of the children’s visits and other services for families. Her status as a grandmother was not considered by the prison. This was also demonstrated when she applied for release on temporary licence (ROTL) to have more contact with her grandchildren, however, this was denied as she was not seen as a priority. It is also important to extend this discussion by exploring what constitutes ‘mothering’ –​a key criteria for gaining access to activities surrounding family life such as family days and children’s visits. As Piacentini et al (2015: 172) identified, ‘these sites of performance where women act out a variety of roles associated with life on the outside’. If we look back to Denise, her practices of motherhood did not fit the criteria of the prison which prevented her from bonding with her grandchild. As a part of this, the bureaucracy in prisons overshadows most attempts to maintain family ties; rather, there is a need to create uniformity and to control families by rewarding some over others. Sophie described the “waiting game” to be accepted on the children’s visits, and that the children’s visits were “hard to get … as they only allow 53

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15 prisoners at a time”. Sophie felt frustrated and angry that there was a bureaucratic process that had hindered family time: “So, you kinda have that constant wait. So this visit [referring to ‘normal’ open visits], I don’t like it … maybe the prisoners have girlfriends that they have known for a week. I don’t know, it is anybody, and it is not the best environment.” Sophie also made a distinction between families that use children’s visits and those that use ‘normal’ open visits. There is a judgement made about what is seen as being a suitable partner, and this suitability can only be seen with families making use of the children’s visits. More importantly, Alexandra spoke about the timing of parental visits, and how the practical elements of this conflict with schooling. However, like Sophie, she also distinguishes herself from other families, she makes it clear that there are differences between herself and some of the families who partake in the parental programmes. ‘I have a lot of contact with the family contact officers. There was a course run for 10 weeks. Then obviously we were going to do it again with the second child, but the timing of it meant they would have to miss school. I wouldn’t make it to get in in the morning … it is good because there is not a lot of kids running around and it is more structured. But again, I feel it is more for people with who don’t know how to interact with kids, such as playing games and things like that. There are a lot of families that go to the visit and not interact with their kids. I think it is more for them or don’t know how to interact with their kids.’ (Alexandra, wife, HMP Toluca) Interestingly, I wondered if there is a connection with the architecture of the prison and the working conditions of prison officers. For example, if we take HMP Shawshank –​this is a Victorian style prison and many of the families expressed negative feelings associated to the prison including the living conditions for their loved ones, where we can also assume that this can have an impact on the working conditions for prison officers and, even more so, on their attitudes to the prisoners and their families. The resistance to improving Victorian prisons was reflected in the disgust of families having to visit their loved ones in these prisons. Francine continued, “One of the prisoners said he had never moved from here. He has been at Shawshank for 17 years and has never moved because of his family. He even said they have not redesigned the prison, maybe a lick of paint.” She continued to speak about HMP Farnleigh: ‘Farnleigh is different, everyone knew me in there. If I was late, they would have a bit of banter and they were friendly to my child. Even the visits, the prison officers in Farnleigh were talkative and the kids could ask them for crayons and so on, and they could run around, where the 54

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play area is massive. But here [HMP Shawshank] they are so dismissive [she crosses her arms to demonstrate what they are like], and the children are not allowed to run around.’ (Francine, wife, HMP Shawshank) The clear differences Francine described were on the basis of physical layout and correlated with the interactions with the prison officers. Emotions were driven by the sheer lack of empathy for families, the design of the prison, and the provocation of rude prison officers, all of which were not conveyed at HMP Farnleigh. At this prison, there were clear feelings of being in a ‘home’ and a sense of acceptance due to what Francine described as having ‘banter’ with prison officers and the children being allowed to ‘run around’. The following section will continue to explore how we can draw on the relationship between the roles of ‘space and surveillance’ to understand the experiences of families of prisoners.

Space and surveillance Female families are most likely to be the point of stigma and judgement when it comes to visiting a loved one, and this can be transferred to the outside world (Condry, 2007; Kotova, 2020). For many female relatives, surveillance is embarked upon from when they first enter the visiting room. Like Wahidin (2002), we can argue that forms of surveillance impact on the markers of the body that are continuously affected by space and place. We can see this in the strict dress code when entering the prison system, and the fact that prison officers police the physical appearance of the visitors, often predominantly female relatives. Comfort (2003: 96) describes this enforcement as ‘the body is hypersexualised and there is a need for moral attire’. Similarly, this is in addition to the prison’s moral compass on what is appropriate behaviour in the visiting room and how good behaviour is based on the level of affection and care performed towards families and their children. The security checks can represent an in-​between stage, where families are on the outside trying to enter the inside of the prison, and to pass this, there is a need to scrutinise and monitor visitors’ physical appearance. HMP Teddington had written signs of what was considered appropriate dress. This included not wearing a hoodie and I too was subjected to having to remove such a garment before I could enter the premises. This was not only at HMP Teddington, it was also seen at HMP Shawshank. As I sat in the waiting room, the session started later than usual. I could see that most family members were getting very anxious; and it was eating into the time for the visiting session. A family was called in first to another room –​this room was between the waiting area and visiting room –​and I asked the prison officers why they were getting searched. The prison officer said they were suspected of sneaking something into the prison and they justified their reasoning by 55

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adding that the woman was not dressed appropriately, seeing as she was going to visit her brother. I glanced over to see what she was wearing –​for me this was quite odd, as all I saw was her wearing a top and leggings, like my everyday clothing. The prison officers criminalised her by sexualising her ‘casual wear’ by insinuating with gestures that her dress was inappropriate. Visitors must confirm their identity at the point of security and then put all belongings into a locker with only coins kept for use in the visiting room. During my time in the waiting room at HMP Shawshank, the prison officers would first call those from the children’s visits by their first names and then those on remand. Those on remand were called by ID numbers, which were based on the table that they were going to sit at. As they get to the point of the visiting room, families are subjected to a ‘pat down’ before they can sit down with their loved ones. However, security measures are not always consistent, and they are architecturally different across all prisons; for example, at HMP Toluca the prison officers’ presence was still highly evident within different areas of the prison, particularly in relation to the protocols of body searching. This included scanning all personal items using metal detectors, and, in addition, a body search with a wand. For many of the families the feeling of being searched gave rise to a sense of being inappropriate, or a feeling of it being too strict. Sarah, from HMP Toluca, compared this to the security checks in the airport: “It is worse than the airport. You don’t get wanded and searched and your shoes off and all that kind of stuff [at the airport].” Mary-​Beth spoke about the pat down search, which she described as a ‘strip search’: ‘I can’t fault Shawshank –​the only [thing I can] fault Shawshank with was the strip search, if anything I think she [referring to the prison officer] groped you … when you were getting stripped search, I feel it is inappropriate. I know they must do [this] for reasons but at the end of the day there is all the scanners you go through ‘em, so I hated Shawshank for that one particular reason.’ (Sarah, wife, HMP Toluca) This accords with my own reflections on the prison system. Most of my days began with a rigid security check, and this also meant weary looks from staff at the desk as to who I was and why I was there. Since there was a large turnover in staff, due to the fact there were three shifts (morning, afternoon, and evening), I barely had time to get to know the prison officers. So, my days started with putting all of my valuables aside, other than my pen and paper. I would approach the reception desk and the prison officer would ask who I was and what institution I came from. My access solely relied on the FCO to confirm my identity, however, this did not always go as smoothly as one would like. As there were times the FCO was not in, or they were away from their desk, this meant a long time waiting around. 56

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The security checks often gave a subconscious feeling of leaving your own personal identity at the door. We all had to adhere to the same routine, being registered within the system, monitored as to what we would bring into the waiting room and belongings for prisoners, and checking that we were not wearing particular items of clothing that were seen as ‘provocative’ –​even though this was more of an unwritten rule. When going in to the prison visiting room all visitors will be asked to walk through a metal detector and given a rub down search by a member of staff. Your belongings will be put through an x-​ray machine. At times, there may be the SPS Dog Unit operating at the visits –​it’s nothing to worry about and you will be given instructions by the staff. Families of prisoners experienced losing a sense of their personal identity by having to remove personal goods that could identify who they were, including IDs, mobile phones, and handbags. The security search is also based on identifying who you are, obliging one to adhere to the prison rules, by giving prison staff personal information about who you are from formal means of identification, such as a passport or driving licence. Sarah compared her experience to going through security at the airport, and Mary-​Beth described being ‘strip searched’ and the process of using a scanner to be searched. I observed family members being prohibited from entering, due to a lack of identification. Some of the families that I witnessed coming in, did not have a driver’s licence or passport; this could have been because of a lack of financial resources, or not having the right information or access to obtain this information, or they simply forgot because the process was already so overwhelming. The security checks gave rise to –​where I was able to observe and experience –​a feeling of intrusion. The removal of personal identity is an intrusive mechanism that leads to families experiencing a transitional identity which is forced upon them. Although many families shared critical views about the prison, many felt cautious about exercising their right to challenge prison officers and the rules of the prison, just in case this would lead to losing visiting rights to their loved ones. Many women described personal intimate moments as being continuously monitored by security checks. Sophie felt completely overwhelmed with the idea of sharing a private moment of coming in with a newborn to the visit, she felt this space violated any type of private moments with her partner. She described the following: ‘So, we can spend like an hour or whatever. It’s just the four of us. They said no that’s what that visit is, where other people are, because with the baby coming in nine days that upsets me, because we are coming in as a family with everybody watching you. He is obviously going to want to see the baby and I am going to have to bring it here, which is quite hard I think. They can’t give you a wee separate for 57

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that. Just for that or for your first initial visit. … On Thursday there is a carrying on with the chairs in the visit room; and she was there she is saying oh that man is mean, why would he be so mean?’ (Sophie, wife, HMP Toluca) Many families could extend the ‘artificial home life’ for only a short period of time; and many found that the significant moments in life were continuously shared with strangers. However, the violation of privacy also extended to communication with loved ones via writing letters and putting up photos in their cell. Amy spoke about writing letters and sending items to her mother in prison, however, the process one of humiliation and shame due to the constant violations from prison officers. Amy described the process as follows: ‘Our letters are open[ed] and they are read before they get to my mother … I could send emails. But now there is a rule that you can’t bring in property. I understand they must check for drugs, but things like wool so my mum can knit. I couldn’t have sent it now … she will have to buy it out of the meagre amount she gets –​a pound a session, so two pounds a day. Look, what about underwear … she needs to have her own underwear.’ (Amy, daughter, HMP Blakedown) Prison property has always been problematic and many families wanted to make sure their loved ones were looked after with clothing and items from the home to help cope with prison life and to use these objects to make sure prisoners still have a connection to the outside world. Mary-​Beth described her challenges in ensuring her partner was still connected to the outside world: ‘Ricky’s cell once got flooded and all the pictures Ricky had up were pictures his daughter did at nursery. They were ruined. I sent him up photos because my brother got married while I was up and then his own sister has been married while he has been in and he couldn’t go out for any of that. So, I sent him photo frames up, do you know they took the glass out of the photo frames and binned the glass and gave them the frame. And I was like how you are supposed to hang photos up without the glass.’ (Mary-Beth, wife, HMP Teddington) Similarly, Marti (2019) identified that the prison cell has been described as a space with the closest connection to the home, in which prisoners used photos as memorable artefacts that allowed them to feel closer to home with their loved ones. However, we need to remind ourselves, like Marti (2019: 127), argues that the cell should only be a temporary place and not 58

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a permanent one for those incarcerated, in which, the author quotes the ‘cell as ‘a home’ and the cell as ‘a place to be, but not to live’, and we can extend this point by arguing that the cell can be a ‘temporary passing’ for many prisoners. This means that this space for most prisoners will not be a permanent fixture and many will leave after a certain fixed period. If we can link this further to the dialogue with families, private moments are a part of a passing moment in the visiting room and should not be a permanent experience and will not provide a complete narrative on the realities of family life. Family life is an integral part of sustaining oneself during the time of imprisonment and a passing moment due to the heightened security and attempts to minimise risk. Mary-​Beth’s account of sending photos to her boyfriend that remind him of home reveals another private moment that is scrutinised due to the regime of the prison. Mary-​Beth also shared her own observations of another prison her partner was imprisoned in before he moved to HMP Teddington. She discussed seeing another lady going through security checks with her wedding dress. There is an element of promoting family relations through the number of ways of maintaining contact with those who are imprisoned. ‘But I think you can actually get married. They actually bring in their wedding dresses. Then one of the wee dogs had to sniff her, and go under the dress to make sure there was nothing stashed … and that. I don’t know if the prisoners get anything to wear –​if they are allowed, if they get handed in a suit or anything. I haven’t asked about that. So the wedding dress would go through security and she would get ready through there. They have got a registry office, but it’s like the prison chapel.’ (Mary-​Beth, wife, HMP Teddington) The first half of this chapter has provided a deeper understanding of the remnants of the prison visit that intensifies a multitude of emotions that have left families feeling bewildered and overwhelmed by the whole incarceration process. The following section will focus on the experiences of families that have encountered forms of welfare surveillance, including contact with social services and other welfare agencies. Many of the families share their experiences of engaging with services to seek further support, including claiming for extra social welfare benefits, due to accommodating the changing situations for families including childcare or adopting additional roles, such as grandparents that may be the sole carer to children while the parents are imprisoned. Families are not only constructing their identities in response to penal power, but also the power asserted by welfare agencies. To understand the effects of imprisonment on families, it is very important to understand the factors that impact the family outside of the prison. 59

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Welfare, surveillance, and space If we are going to pose the question of how surveillance can be enmeshed with both the penal and the welfare state, we need to take into consideration the policies that push forward the need for the welfare and prison systems to work simultaneously. Miller urges criminologists and social policy scholars to work together to understand how two distinct systems are now working together to target the poor, vulnerable, and most disadvantaged. Miller speaks from the point of view of prison re-​entry, however, we can take this one step further to analyse families of prisoners. Drawing on emotions, it can be argued that both types of surveillance have led to feelings of uncertainty and fear. Fear is a composite of a range of negative feelings associated with being subject to a lack of power, including worry, panic, and horror (Bericat, 2016). In this chapter, it is important to steer the conversation to understand how fear is responded to in relation to disparities of ‘power’ and the forms of social control they are subjected to by formal agencies. Many families experience feelings of being in limbo during imprisonment, but this transpires to the effects of the welfare system. We can argue that families of prisoners are more likely to be considered ‘economically vulnerable’ and are likely to be entrapped in the welfare state due to having a loved one in prison. Unlike Miller, we can also argue this from a gender perspective, Gilliom (2009) identified that welfare surveillance was most likely to target women from Black communities, often single mothers who are unemployed and living in precarious situations. Similarly, many of the mothers in this study were single and living in precarious situations. The welfare system did not support them but rather made them feel fragile and dependent, due to the policies that are embedded in the neoliberal era, which infringe on the rights of the mother. One of the most commonly expressed features of this system was ‘fear’, and this emotion has been a catalyst for many families of prisoners. Consequently, for many families, there was a reluctance to engage with outside agencies including social services and welfare agencies, and we can extend this by arguing to look at schools as to some degree a part of enforcement agencies. Much of the experiences illustrate that families were subject to having to take full responsibility in areas of supporting relatives financially or taking on additional familial roles. This was primarily due to the cutbacks from the UK government in the assistance given to families receiving support from welfare agencies (Selwyn et al, 2013) as well as the lack of support for the families of prisoners. Many families were caught in the middle of the tragic government cutbacks that resulted in further job losses; increase in health and social inequalities; and the precarity of state support. These disadvantages manifested in taking on additional responsibilities including financial and caring pressures. Unfortunately, for many families these circumstances grew 60

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significantly worse during the pandemic, leading to further challenges in visiting the prison and seeking further assistance from governmental agencies. For many families, there is a need to take on added responsibilities in submitting forms to agencies to receive assistance. There has been an abundance of families needing to fill out forms regarding applying for, and receiving, assistance. What follows is an example of how the eligibility criteria for support simply do not match real-​life needs. It emerges in the context of viewing form-​filling as a part of a disciplinary technique (Lipsky, 1980), associated with another type of social control. The testimonies discussed here speak about the ongoing complexities in dealing with form-​filling and the need to meet certain expected criteria. ‘He is now trying to get an assessment to get his categorisation down –​because he had an appeal in, nothing moved. So I was hoping that he would have a re-​categorisation. I think if you are lower category you can apply for licenses to leave –​so I was hoping before the baby could be born. But because the appeal held everything up. Whatever. It is not going to happen anyway. It won’t happen in nine days. So it is just a lot of paperwork.’ (Sophie, wife, HMP Toluca) Aaron speaks about the excessive amount of time spent on filling in forms, which he describes as not worth the money being reimbursed as there is too much time taken filling in the application. Similarly, Alicia identifies there is a continuous need to fill in forms to send any clothes in for her son, which has led to an overload of paperwork. This has also been a constant wait for goods, such as clothes, to be sent to her son. “We had to get two trains and a bus, and we could get our money back, and they did mention this. But the time you have sent it off it is more of a hassle” (Aaron, father, HMP Blakedown). ‘Or, you know they will bring these “pro-​formas” out for trainers, money, and asking to phone me. … There has been times when I try change shifts at work and I couldn’t get it and I have been in tears cause I am thinking what’s going to happen, how is he going to get money.’ (Alicia, wife, HMP Teddington) ‘If I go with assisted prisoners [referring to the Assisted Prison Visits Scheme], you can only see them twice a month and sometimes I don’t have anyone to look after her. You have to go through these hurdles to see him. … No, because it is an eight-​hour trip and the fact that I need to take insulin and eat it. And it wouldn’t be worth my while going through for a 45-​minute visit. The day I went through 61

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which night I had to book a Travelodge and had a back-​to-​back, 90 minutes, which is still really nothing for that travelling.’ (Bianca, wife, HMP Shawshank) Despite its intentions to support families, Bianca identified that the Assisted Prison Visits Scheme (AVPU) had many limitations, she describes that she is still responsible for filling in the paperwork to receive financial support, and further to this, there are still practical obligations in finding someone to look after her child. The process of filling in forms is exercised as another form of discipline and this can be associated with monitoring families through the means of them giving up personal information. ‘I think my mum and dad would look after them, but Chloe is not biologically mine anyway. So legally who would she go to, or whether I think her dad and his wife file for it? There have been issues with them as well. I don’t think she would go to them. They have cause have the problems. They have been phoning social work or making false allegations, sending the police around, whilst we have the children. Then the mum left them and got sent away. And the sister cracked up. When she went to therapy, they couldn’t believe half the things she had said. That’s one of the reasons why I try to involve them and try to keep them out of it.’ (Aaron, father and ex-partner of women incarcerated, HMP Blakedown) In Chapter 3, we discussed that families adopt additional roles due to having a loved one in prison, which has an impact on the dynamics that occur between the prison and welfare state. Most importantly, families spoke about ways to manage the intense practices of the state. For example, Mary-​Beth spoke about only disclosing a certain amount of information to her daughter’s school. Her partner/​stepfather to her child was currently imprisoned, and she disclosed information about this to the school on a “need to know” basis, which she felt still led to further scrutiny and social services intervening, due to her partner being imprisoned: ‘They know what they need to know. After that they tried to stick their nib in … I had somebody phoning up social services saying that I leave my daughter in the house on her own, which is a lot of rubbish because they know my partner is locked up and they were just trying to get a reaction off me. … I have no time for social workers I absolutely hate them; they tear families apart rather than help them. He [referring to her partner] has never done anything with the child, he has never done anything to children. What he has done has nothing to do with that. But she was still trying to tell me that social work wouldn’t let him near me, especially anything to do with a child.’ (Mary-Beth, wife, HMP Teddington) 62

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Interestingly, the school and social services decided to take further precautions to supervise Mary-​Beth’s parenting choices but these assessments made Mary-​Beth feel criminalised. Similarly, Aaron spoke about the dynamics with his daughter’s teacher, which were positive but cautious. Aaron felt there was always a feeling of being ostracised and being the victim of gossip. The teacher arranged for Aaron’s daughter to do her homework in the prison with her mother. Aaron quotes: “I was impressed with the set up, but I can tell they have been talking about the situation, and I don’t really want them to talk about it. It wasn’t professional.” Mary-​Beth and Aaron are examples of how families communicate with formal agencies in response to keeping a clear distance in the context of disclosing any information about their personal circumstances. Many parents there were a great deal of fear in the context of schools and the anxieties surrounding the schools reporting them to the social services. Kayleigh is a mother of one daughter, and her partner is imprisoned at HMP Shawshank. She described that she had not spoken to anyone about her situation with her daughter’s school. ‘You get worried of social workers and things like that, and you get worried because they may tell the social worker, but I think that is just paranoia. Maybe, I don’t know. For many partners with children, many felt a sense of fear that their children were going to be removed from the family home.’ (Kayleigh, partner, HMP Shawshank) Emma (also a family member of a prisoner at HMP Shawshank) spoke about the constant control enforced by social workers and psychologists attempting to see if their accommodation was suitable for their loved ones in prisons to reside in. She was subjected to high levels of scrutiny due to social workers not warranting her partner as ‘low risk’. ‘He needs to do the full four years before he is even entitled to being able to have day release. But even then it is up to the parole board to decide. Then I got told it is not just his own prison it is the prisons he has even been psychologist reports and then they must come and do a house check and everything my house and the social work to see where he is living and that … and they still wouldn’t let him live here because of the wean.’ (Emma, wife, HMP Shawshank) Both quotes highlight the level of mistrust maintained between them and agencies, including schools and social workers. This sense of fear that they will be perceived by others as committing an act of wrongdoing is in tandem with feeling the need to keep their family situation hidden from others. This sense of fear was not an isolated experience, as many of the 63

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families experienced feeling stigmatised by their loved ones’ imprisonment. Mothers, like Sophie, described the risk assessments that were implemented by the SPS alongside the social work intervention before her husband was released. Sophie disassociated herself from her partner by identifying that assessments from social workers were another form of punishment, and, in fact, identified that the symbolism of assessment meant that families were also seen as at risk. It is important to argue that families undergo forms of risk assessments to assess whether the home is suitable for the prisoner to be released back into the community. Sophie noted the following: ‘People were talking about his social workers –​we have not done anything wrong so surely it is not to assess me or my child, or what am doing with my child because at the end of the day, it is him that they are assessing. He is only coming back to live in the house. These social controls infantilised many families with little autonomy on restricting the amount of information they give to social workers.’ (Sophie, wife, HMP Toluca) Ricardo had many dealings with social workers due to his daughters’ incarceration and he shared experiences to describe many examples of people being tied into an unwritten agreement of a relationship with the state. The ethos of care in the public services is enacted through a disciplinary process that contributes to the fragmentation of the individual while increasing state control: ‘[They] put me through the ring[er], no such thing –​I think its soul destroying, taking apart of you and exposing it to everybody. Even now, we still got to answer questions –​I am grown man, I am 61 years of age and they treat me like I don’t know anything. No offense to you [speaking directly to me] –​I have got 23-​year-​old people telling me how I should live my life.’ (Ricardo, father, HMP Blakedown) Ricardo experienced a high level of scrutiny, in part due to his being a sole male carer of five grandchildren. He identified feelings of being exposed and the need to answer to someone half his age. In Ricardo’s situation, he justifies his reasoning not only through disassociation from his daughters, but also identifying his age and gender to argue his suitability to look after his grandchildren. However, as we see for Ricardo, this extends to other parts of his life including receiving housing benefits. Scrutiny is also about Ricardo having no legal recognition of guardianship over his grandchildren. As he is considered as an ‘informal carer’, social services have legal authority over the children, and therefore he must undergo scrupulous routine checks. ‘Believe it or not [I]‌got a spot check right out of the blue –​[they] don’t tell you, they just turn up. They check the bedrooms. I am not an animal. 64

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Do you know what I mean? I am not going to tie the kids up … the house is spotless … I always make sure it is spotless. It breaks my heart –​ I got to get written permission, these are part of me and I got to get permission to take them on holiday.’ (Ricardo, father, HMP Blakedown) Many families felt a sense of entrapment and of being “branded as not good enough”. This means life decisions are quantified according to the administrative tasks of social workers using checklists to ensure Ricardo can look after his grandchildren. The sense of being branded is described as “feeling like an animal”, and also a sense of being labelled as a criminal, due to the ongoing assessments. This links back to Sophie’s comment on risk assessments. However, this reform has in fact heavily impacted families of prisoners, as many have undergone further marginalisation. Amy described her experiences before she was sentenced and after her mother’s release, in which she identified that her mother’s situation in caring for her son was heavily monitored, due to her mother’s crime. Her mother was convicted of a sex offence with a minor, alongside her father. This resulted in excessive policing to monitor the relationship between the grandmother and her grandchildren. She recalled one of her interactions with her probation officer: ‘Before my mother was arrested … there was a pre-​sentence report and they had asked what the situation was in terms of caring for anyone. She stressed to them, she was looking after my son, and that time we were worried because my husband got a full-​time job and we were don’t really trust anyone else to look after our son. But this was not taken into consideration at all. They didn’t give my mother maximum, but it was three months short. Now she has been released, she is not allowed to see her grandchildren by herself, her probation officer needs to be present, whilst they visit. In fact, the second probation officer has realised my mother is not a monster, but the first probation officer is still very judgemental to my mother.’ (Amy, daughter, HMP Blakedown) Similarly, this conversation continued with other participants like Muriel whereby she discussed the realities of receiving government assistance for family members with caring responsibilities. Many informal carers were more than likely to pick up the responsibilities for other members of the family whose plight should really fall under the remit of the state’s statutory obligations. Instead, this obligation is informally passed onto the families, which contrasts with the formal help received by foster parents: ‘I live in a rented flat. This is the fourth one I have been in, in years, and they haven’t sorted out any sort of housing I need. I need a four-​or five-​bedroom apartment to rent. I am not the 65

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only one in that position [referring to other grandparents], there are thousands like us. I had them weeks before it came to light, I had the wee one born early, the middle one, and they said where is the other two and then social came involved. And you won’t get them back until you straighten yourself out. But there isn’t any housing and we need help. There should be help for us. You know what I mean. Fair enough, if they class it as a job, but it is not a job. It is natural. We need help to get us housing and provide things for us. … They sit in the pub and weans and leave them wild, with weans, and they get a lot of money a week for one child and I got five, and I don’t get anything for them. It is not about the money because you wouldn’t do it.’ (Muriel, mother-in-law, HMP Toluca) This sense of frustration was also shared with Ricardo, who described his experiences in filling forms to receive governmental support. He spoke about the feelings of being interrogated but also dehumanised that are parallel to the same experiences he shared about his treatment with the prison system. ‘I have never filled a housing form in. I am in my caravan and I don’t fill one in. … The woman who filled it in was asking questions and things like that, and what are you on and I was telling her. Plus, I am [receiving industrial injury benefits] because of an accident at work. She asked, “Have you got a letter?” I said, “No I haven’t got a letter for that.” Right. So next thing she doesn’t put it down. So, I said “alright,” left it. Next thing I got my rent paid, you know for Noreena’s. Then I get a letter, saying to stop your rent because “you committed fraud”. I went, “how have I committed fraud?” So I had to go down to Mitchell house there [points outside], the dole office is there. It turns out that I never told them about the industrial injury benefits, and I went, “I did.” They said, “Well it wasn’t on the forms. Right, so you lied on the form” [narrating what they said to him] I never filled the form in. So I was telling the woman –​so she took all of the forms away and bought them back-​she must of put industrial injury as I never had a letter for that. … Well, it’s like, I don’t want no money off them, but it’s like you get no help for raising them [referring to children], right and well they go you can fill in this, right, I shouldn’t have to fill in any forms whatsoever. They should know that your car doesn’t run on fresh air, and I am up there once a fortnight. Right, plus you buy your tokens so you can get them some food and that, that doesn’t come cheap, and they saying fill in more forms, tell us another thing in your life. Right how much you get and why you can’t afford it. You are grovelling, I will rather starve. Right, there is no help whatsoever off the government.’ (Ricardo, father, HMP Blakedown) 66

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Both Muriel and Ricardo provide examples of Miller’s concept of an era of ‘mass supervision’, in which they are entrapped in the complex web of bureaucracy dictated by third providers. Many family members are (or become) the primary carers for children of those imprisoned, as a result grandparents like Muriel and Ricardo are left with all of the responsibilities but no legal entitlements to support. Therefore, many become tied up in a system that is complex, and this leads on to further scrutiny and labels of criminalisation. Miller argues that the ‘carceral citizen’ differs from any marginalised group, in which those who are caught up in the penal and welfare system are continuously subjected to monitoring, degradation, and humiliation. Miller argues that families experience the consequences of the carceral state, in which he describes the ‘third providers’ as a fixture of local authorities that police ex-​offenders from a distance, including probation officers, social services, and so on. I agree with Miller’s analysis, however, there needs to be a greater emphasis on the effects of mass supervision on families of prisoners.

Conclusion The dimensions of care have been pivotal to the testimonies shared by families, which are evident in both the prison and beyond. However, in this chapter, I note how families shape their caring responsibilities with social control mechanisms within the prison and in public institutions like social workers, welfare state agencies, and schooling. In this chapter, it is important to note that the role of ‘surveillance’ has been in sync from the prison to the welfare system. Furthermore, this chapter identifies that the functions of the prison are echoed in the governance of the welfare system, whereby families experienced feelings of entrapment, judgement, fear, and anger. Miller’s ideas on the ‘carceral state’ are situated nicely with the experiences shared by families on their interactions with state agencies. Their comments also deepened the conversation around ‘carceral citizenship’, suggesting that it can be extended from those previously incarcerated to other vulnerable groups like families of prisoners. Many families spoke about feeling in a ‘catch-​22’ due to the fact they need to live with seeking support from governmental assistance but were then tangled in a web of bureaucracy, administration, and further scrutiny. All of these features presented emotions that were based on invoking fear and feelings of shame that were often similar to the experiences of families visiting a loved one.

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Spatialities of waiting In the previous chapters there have been many discussions exploring the ways in which families experience forms of social control mechanisms and how these evoke emotions of fear and shame for families of prisoners. In this chapter, I will take these conversations further by arguing that waiting can be a result of social control but also, more importantly, by reflecting on how waiting can be a mediator between time and space that can shape the experiences of relatives, in particular women in certain spaces, including the prison system and the home. It is important to argue that there are a range of factors that contribute to the exercise of waiting and that impact on the experiences of families of prisoners, including social class, gender, and racial identities. Existing literature (Shirani and Henwood, 2011; Kotova, 2019) identifies that harms of waiting can lead to distinctive experiences for women, for example, Shirani and Henwood (2011) argue that waiting can have a significant impact on life-​course milestones, including pregnancy. There are detrimental impacts from waiting for families that can lead to further demands on ‘family time’, including childcare responsibilities. For example, Anderson and Bengtsson (2019) conceptualise the term ‘timely care’ to understand the role of care from the perspectives of social workers and how this can be shaped in relation to time and space. Interestingly, the authors argue that timely care is fragile and dictated by ‘institutional bureaucracy’ that can restrict the quality of family time for those institutionalised and their relatives. This has been touched upon by Kotova (2019), who argued that ‘doing time’ can also be used to describe the female partners of those incarcerated. The author noted that female partners needed to delay some of their key ‘life transitions’ including having a baby, due to the long period of their partner’s incarceration. This can be conceptualised further by arguing that waiting can be described as ‘existential mobility’ and the impact of waiting can shape one’s freedom of movement (Hage, 2009). Anthropological and sociological studies (Schwartz, 1974; Gasparini, 1995; Hage, 2009; Auyero, 2010; Armstrong, 2018) have identified that the concept of waiting and have addressed individuals’ experiences with regard to how we wait, who we wait for, and how long we wait. Much of these conversations focus on marginalised groups including asylum seekers and refugees. Waiting has been intersected with individuals’ position in the social system and how this affects the most vulnerable groups in society. For example, 68

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Auyero (2010) explored the relationship between waiting and the welfare state by capturing the experiences of those who receive benefits and how waiting is exercised in this process. The author conducted an ethnographic study to conceptualise the role of ‘indeterminate waiting’ by recipients in the waiting room and how this process can inflict further emotions of fear, uncertainty, and shame. However, the experience of waiting most likely affects those who are marginalised, in which, the author argues that waiting can be defined as ‘interactions between poor people and welfare bureaucracy’ (Auyero, 2010: 888). Most importantly, we can also argue that waiting is shaped by ‘institutional power’ that is exercised by those with authority; and this power is exercised to regulate economic, and social changes including institutions in the asylum process (Hage, 2009), welfare state (Auyero, 2010), and the prison system (Armstrong, 2018; Foster, 2019a; Kotova, 2019). In response to waiting for long periods, many individuals identifies waiting as an investment, as they await certain resources or something better in life. This theme of investment in waiting is apparent for many different groups, from families of prisoners to asylum seekers, however, the similarity that they share is a need to wait for the better. Penal scholars (Armstrong, 2018; Foster, 2019a; Kotova, 2019) have identified the processes of waiting from the perspectives of prisoners and their families. The visual aspects of waiting are captured in Armstrong’s (2018) study that explores the ‘cell and the corridor’. Armstrong depicts the different spaces that those imprisoned experience, and the constraints on time in the designated spaces of the cell and the corridor. The power to wait or not is exercised at the discretion of those in power with little autonomy for those imprisoned. This is echoed in the body of literature (Foster, 2019a; Kotova, 2019) that has identified the concept of waiting in relation to understanding the experiences of families of prisoners. Foster (2019a) and Kotova (2019) depict aspects of how families construct their experiences in terms of ‘doing time’ and the role of ‘waiting’ in prison visiting centres from families’ perspectives. The authors identify ‘waiting’ as social, aspects of which can be captured in the waiting room, including meeting other families. Waiting is also conceptualised by families taking back control for parts of their lives outside of the prison. This chapter will build on Foster’s work to understand how waiting can be dictated as a form of social control in the waiting room and outside of the prison. This chapter will capture many elements of ‘waiting’ from the experiences of families of prisoners and will break down these experiences to understand the following aspects of families’ experiences of waiting: who waits, how do they wait, and when do they wait. The discussion will be divided so as to capture concepts including ‘waiting out the time’, ‘immobilising choice’, quiescing travel time, shameful waiting, and feelings of hopelessness and hopefulness. 69

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‘Waiting out the time’ Existing literature (Comfort, 2008; Armstrong, 2018; Foster, 2019a, 2019b) has identified that there are similarities in experiences between prisoners and their families including with regard to how time is experienced. Foster (2019a) conceptualised this with the term ‘doing the wait’, similarly, Armstrong (2018) described the realities of time for prisoners’ as ‘doing nothing’, to describe the lack of purpose of prisons. Comfort (2008) argues that the passage of time for families of prisoners is similar to the experiences of those imprisoned, in which time experienced by families is often constructed by the length of the prison sentence. ‘Doing’ becomes symbolic of how significant time is for families. Their experience of living the sentence with the prisoner and waiting out their time can be described in terms of ‘passing the time’ but also a ‘sense of displacement’. The idea of needing to ‘wait out time’ is used to describe families’ experiences of being stuck and immobile for a temporary period during their relatives’ incarceration. Feeling stuck can be linked to families’ experience of the sentence through the means of restricting physical movement to either the prison or home, and families identified self-​enforced limits to pursuing other activities, like holidays. However, like Kotova, it is important to understand the exercise of time from a gendered perspective and that it is predominantly female relatives that are impacted due to their loved one’s incarceration. If we can be more specific, for the majority of females, their time costs are exacerbated due to additional responsibilities such as childcare, which leads to further strains. Bianca described her feelings of ‘doing remand’, based on her experience of waiting to hear an outcome for her loved one. Many of Bianca’s experiences relate to feelings of confinement due to being restricted to certain spaces, from the prison to the home to the school run. As a result of her partner’s incarceration, Bianca’s (wife and mother with a daughter) time was centred on the needs of her partner and her children and she described that being incarcerated was only one side of it, as the harms of prison are mostly associated with families that deal with everything on the outside. ‘I feel like I am doing the remand as well of aye. I think I am worst off with keeping all of the family together, doing his work, taking the kids [to] school and do[ing] all of the activities with the wee one. You are trying to squeeze everything in. You worry constantly about everything. I think it’s worst for the family. I know being incarcerated is horrendous, but you have to face the outside world as well.’ (Bianca, wife, HMP Shawshank) Similarly, Emily spoke about adopting additional responsibilities, including looking after her husband’s business. She made the comparison that her 70

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husband was essentially living in a different world to her. Interestingly, Emily spoke about having additional responsibilities, but little legal rights over her husband’s house. ‘He is telling me to keep myself healthy and supporting me … but it is not the same. He gets his meals cooked for him, TV, playtime, and its different I have [to] do everything myself. I have do things like email on his behalf, for example he has rented out his house and made his aunty power of attorney, so [I]‌need to be in contact and email his aunty every so often … there is a lot more to do.’ (Emily, wife, HMP Shawshank) The majority of families spoke about the additional responsibilities that they adopted due to having a loved one incarcerated, however, many argued that while the need to care was absolute they did not have the financial capacity to do so. ‘Waiting out the time’ was described by most female relatives in terms of being committed and dedicated to living out the sentence with their loved ones. In fact, Francine spoke about how her routine mirrored her partner’s routine in prison. Interestingly, she also made the distinction between her and the other wives, in which she argues that there are some wives who wouldn’t care, but this is not her. Francine described that time is significant when it comes to being close by to take phone calls. ‘You are doing the sentence with them. You know there are some women that just get on with their own lives, when their partners are inside. But me, no, I need to be there for him, and you have to make sure you are there for things like phone calls. You need to make sure you are at near the phone to receive it, or you need to make sure you have good reception, like if you are out at the shopping centre.’ (Francine, wife, HMP Toluca) ‘Waiting out the time’ can also contribute to many families speaking about the excessiveness of the punishment that was experienced by their imprisoned relatives, which also had an effect on the way they were treated in the visiting room. For example, Sophie spoke about being punished in light of prisoners being physically constrained and, in a sense, treated as children, as she compares prison officers to “babysitters”. Sophie described that in fact she was doing the “real sentence” and that the effects of incarceration had restricted her mobility and the extent to which she felt that she still had her freedom. Most importantly, she felt she was emotionally drained by the incarceration process in particular, and the interactions she had with the prison officers. 71

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‘You cannot do certain things with your life, because you cannot be involved, either your child is upset, or you’re upset. … You kind of living the same sentence. … I do feel they are punishing the families more than the prisoners actually are being punished. That’s the way I feel about it. The families are getting more punished, they are in here, I know they cannae not go outside. But they are just in here and people are just watching them. It’s like a babysitter. And we are out doing the hard work.’ (Sophie, wife, HMP Toluca) Alexandra noted that she needed to follow a strict routine for her to be on time for the prison. This was a form of punishment for her, as she had to change her children’s eating and homework times, to go to the prison. ‘We are there every day. … Things like going to visit them … you are putting off other things in your life, and you working the visits around your routine, like things you normally do. Like go to the park to take the kids out, well, you have to cut that short because you got to go there. Or, if you want to go out during the week, well you can’t do that because you are going there. You [are] kind of rushing things, for example, when my son comes in from school he rushes his dinner, whereas normally if he wasn’t in prison he would probably eat his dinner at five o’ clock, whereas now he is getting it at 3.30. I know you get stuff up at Toluca, they will be eating things you wouldn’t want them to normally eat.’ (Alexandra, wife, HMP Toluca) If we extend this dialogue, Katie speaks about the continuous need to take on her husband’s role to ensure his business is still running. As a result, this has left her feeling mentally exhausted with pressures of looking after her child and managing her husband’s business. ‘But … from his point of view, it’s the frustration of knowing that his phone calls –​he is limited to phone calls and home. How much money he can spend? So, from a work point of view, you run your own business. It’s myself and his brother, trying to keep it going. So, he is on the phone to his brother giving him things on what to do and what not to do. And I am definitely not sleeping at night. All that sort of stuff. Comes in to the whole stressed and just trying to deal with day-​to-​day life. Keep it normal for your daughter as well, because she doesn’t know.’ (Katie, wife, HMP Toluca) Time has been embedded in many of the life events described by family members including birthdays or deaths. For example Alicia, who is a mother of a son who is imprisoned. Her son was a repeat offender and 72

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was often in and out of prison, and she described her son’s attending of his grandfather’s funeral: ‘I suppose it was good of him coming there, but it was so embarrassing the way it was done. They were the first to arrive and they took Michael right at the front of the crematorium, when people coming in they really noticed much [referring to the handcuffs]. They took him out the van and he had two handcuffs on him and three officers with him which was shocking. I could see the point if Michael did a severe crime, but it wasn’t. I know every prisoner is treated the same, I understand that. But there was no discretion at all. They took him up and I can see everyone staring and I was trying to stand in front of him. They made him stand outside of the crematorium.’ (Alicia, mother, HMP Teddington) Alicia described how there was a lack of discretion over her son attending the funeral. His identity as a prisoner was showcased to other family members and friends, where there was a constant reminder of his imprisonment, for example, the use of handcuffs and the presence of prison officers. Hage (2009) conceptualised the term ‘stuckedness’ to describe the experiences of the most vulnerable and how their movements are continuously restricted due to the processes of those in authority. We can extend this argument by contextualising that Alicia’s son will always be reminded of his identity regardless of the spaces he enters. The handcuffs were symbolic, reaffirming to everyone present his identity as a prisoner, and this was a constant reminder for families like Alicia. Female relatives identified the significance of time and how this constructed their journeys to accommodate the prison regime. ‘Waiting out the time’ was driven by the exacerbation of additional responsibilities that were linked to financial and childcare duties for relatives to maintain family life. It is imperative to understand that the discourse of ‘doing time’ needs to be extended to understand the pressured on female relatives when it comes to maintaining family life.

Immobilising choice As a part of ‘waiting out the time’, most of the families spoke about the restrictions of choice that contribute to the discourse of waiting. Hage (2009: 100) argues that ‘ “stuckedness” is by definition a situation where a person suffers from both the absence of choices or alternatives to the situation one is in’. We can argue that this is the case for families of prisoners regarding the lack of autonomy they have about choices over their lives. These constraints have an impact on finances and even have health implications, as was shared by the family members I interviewed for this study. 73

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Aaron described that the choice to live by himself with his two children due to his partner being imprisoned was short-​lived. His feelings of anxiety led to barriers that stopped him from relaxing and enjoying other parts of his life, which can be described as a feeling of being subconsciously immobile. Interestingly, Hage (2009) describes the term ‘waiting out’ to describe individuals that are waiting for something undesirable. In the case of Aaron, he was very conflicted about supporting his wife, due to the complexities he experienced with her before the incarceration process. ‘Then she was sentenced I couldn’t afford to keep the apartment, so I moved back in with my mum and dads with the kids. … It was twenty pound a week for the childcare. I didn’t realise I was behind [on the] payments, so I will have to pay next week. So, I will have to pay after [Christmas], because I have spent all of my wages. Just little things like that.’ (Aaron, father and ex-partner of women incarcerated, HMP Blakedown) This extends to Mary-​Beth describing the precarity surrounding money that contributed to emotions towards the uncertainties of providing food for her child. “One of the key challenges has been struggling with money. I sit and spend every day worrying about him [partner in prison], and how I am going to feed myself and my daughter, and how I am going to get my daughter to school” (Mary-​Beth, wife, HMP Teddington). Financial instability has been a key trend across many families due to their relatives’ incarceration. Kayleigh continues this conversation by speaking about how administrative processes to help alleviate financial stress appear to be impossible: ‘Because he worked full time, I went from that to paying the bills myself and more the hassle. Them saying we can’t do anything because they need to speak to him. I am saying, and actually I just got a bill thorough from the bank and he must have been in an overdraft and they were adding interest on. Like all the time. They said there is nothing they can do unless he goes into the bank. So, the interest will be building on it went from a £50 to a £100 overdraft. And that was just the overdraft. It is now over £400. Because of security and debt is going to mounting up. Also, I can’t like put down the Sky package I wanted to cancel and unless it is him, so I have to keep up payments for the highest package. And the sport and that’s nonsense.’ (Kayleigh, partner, HMP Shawshank) Agencies, such as banks, offer no alternatives for marginalised groups like Kayleigh, and as a result families’ debt has increased due to the administrative controls put in place when someone is incarcerated. We can also argue 74

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that the consequence of rising debt for the families of those incarcerated are a part of the crisis brought about by the adoption of the principles of neoliberalism principles that are determined to ensure individuals are ‘free’ and ‘independent’. However, this left the most deprived in a state of fragility that caused many families to experience changes in their households to accommodate financial losses, precarious employment, and childcare responsibilities. Another example has been health, where many of the families experienced health complications before and after their loved one was imprisoned. This was an extra challenge in maintaining relationships with their loved ones. Madeline identified that freedom of movement was limited to the home due to physical and mental illness and Mary-​Beth described her and her daughter’s complications that affected her travelling to the prison and seeking financial assistance. ‘I am sick at the moment; I got chronic arthritis in my knees. I don’t keep the best, some of the days at indoors or I will go along to my friend’s house. One day a week I will go and visit Dane, or once a fortnight. … Well I do suffer from depression and anxiety. So, I do and going to therapy. And I go to therapy, but they don’t always work. But when the weather is good, things like that –​you feel down about it [referring to her son’s imprisonment].’ (Madeline, mother, HMP Toluca) ‘Well, I phone to see if they were willing to put me up in accommodation because obviously my daughter has skin allergies and I have diabetes. This is something I have suffered [with] since last year, when I had a car accident, and a few other medical things. They turned around and said because you stay within travelling distance, you could in effect do [it] in a day. No, because it is an eight-​hour trip and the fact that I need to take insulin and eat it.’ (Mary-​Beth, wife, HMP Toluca) Madeline and Mary-​Beth allude to the fact that immobility is affected by ill health, which causes their movement to be restricted in activities outside the home. Madeline acknowledged that her health immobilised her at home and there was a struggle to travel to see her friends, attend prison visits, and seek help from therapy. Further, Mary-​Beth’s situation shows that the criteria for providing financial assistance in fact do not reflect everyday life situations. The UK government provides financial assistance through the AVPU for visitors to prisons who are travelling long distances and provides accommodation so that families can see their loved ones for two days over the weekend. However, Mary-​Beth’s quote demonstrates how her health conditions have not been considered and this means that although on paper she is seen to be ‘capable’ enough to travel to and from the prison, the realities 75

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are that travelling is a challenge, due to her health conditions. These are not ‘seen’ as credible by the prison in what would be a ‘tick the boxes’ exercise. The experience of feeling there is a lack of choice and autonomy has led to families feeling a sense of hopelessness. This leads on to the following section that focuses on the role of ‘travelling in time’.

Quiescing travel time Bissell (2007) conceptualises the term ‘quiescing travel time’ to describe the experience of travelling, in which the author argues that travelling time is mediated between ‘mobility and displacement’ (Bissell, 2007: 297) and it can also be described as ‘dead time’. However, Bissell argues that waiting time is based on the experiences of a starting and an ending point. We can link this to the experiences of families in travelling to and from the prison, and this is also similar to Hage’s concept of ‘stuckedness’ that resonates with families’ experiences of travelling and that many families experience travelling as at times extensive and scrupulous. Research (Comfort, 2008; Christian, 2005) argues that travelling occupies a great deal of time for families of incarcerated people; for example, Christian identifies that long journeys are extensive and this impacts predominately on female relatives. Many families described travelling to the prison as tedious and repetitive as well as costly. While families were moving towards an end point, many felt a sense of ‘stuckedness’ and immobility. Carol, the wife of a prisoner at HMP Blakedown, noted the following: “Every time I visit a prison, all I do is sit. I sit for hours on the train and sit for another few hours in the visiting room.” Interestingly, Mariah described the ultimate purpose of her time travelling to the prison to attend the family days. She compared the length of time travelling to the prison in relation to how long the prison visits were. The time expended in travelling was far greater than that allotted for seeing their loved ones in visits that are approximately two to three hours long. While there were anxieties Mariah experienced, there was a sense that waiting it out by looking forward to family visits would contribute to passing the time in the prison. ‘The only good thing was the family days. But we only got one, out of the whole year and that was in Rochester. So, me and my daughter were leaving, I think we left about six o’ clock in the morning to get there on time, and it wasn’t even a whole day –​ I think it was between 9 and 12. So, things like that, they could have made it a whole day to make it work. Some people travel so far to these prisons, and by the time you [get there you] are so shattered, you would rather a whole day rather than it is a waste of time.’ (Mariah, partner, HMP Blakedown) 76

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Mariah shows that maintaining contact with relatives is fragile, as the time spent travelling did not compensate for the time spent in the visiting room. We can argue that travelling is an integral part of waiting, travelling enables one to occupy a ‘sense of patience’ but to also invest in time that leads to the final destination. Mariah presents a bit of light during a very dark period in her life, where time was significant to travelling for long periods as well as the time spent in the visiting room. Christian (2005) argued that families experience long periods of travelling to the prison, where it had taken some families a minimum of six hours. Further the author observed that the key challenges for families were around the time and energy expended in going to the prison. This relates to Mariah’s description of travelling as being focused on consumption of time, that is, referring to wasting time, or wasted energy. In context to Bissell (2007), we can argue that ‘travelling time’ for families is an extension to the devastating effects of having a loved one in prison. Most importantly, travelling can be considered ‘wasted time’, but on the other hand it is a space to use the time to reflect on their visit with their loved ones. This reflection can be conceived in terms of reminiscing about good times, rehearsing what to say if there is bad news, or even a time to breathe before the start of the visit. Families experience a state of being in limbo while waiting either to attend the visiting room to see their loved ones or the desire for something positive to occur. First, the waiting room was a unique space that offered the family a temporary base; each waiting room was physically different in each prison, but all had the same purpose. We can argue that travelling is an integral part of waiting, however, this can create divisive issues of both uncertainty and certainty, which resonates with many of the families’ experiences. Many of the families used the waiting room to organise their thoughts and used this time to prepare what they are going to say on their visit. While present in the waiting room, I started to speak to a mother visiting her imprisoned son, and she spoke about the anxieties in sharing the information with her son that his ex-​partner was pregnant, and her friend was there with her for support. Audrey’s friend (Peggy) became a key support for Audrey when visiting her son in prison. They spoke to me about the financial implications of travelling and that in fact the bus became the most reliable way to travel to and from the prison. One afternoon, I sat with two older ladies –​one was a mother (Audrey) who has son in prison and the other was a friend (Peggy), who would go to the prison to support her friend. Audrey would often visit fortnightly with Peggy, travelling from Sunnydale on the bus from Mayberry bus station. She was from one of the most deprived areas in Sunnydale. So, she would often mention that money was tight and travelling by bus was cheaper for her and her friend. This was not the 77

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first time Audrey had visited her son in a prison. She has visited him in another prison, as her son has reoffended on several occasions, due to drug addiction. But Audrey was still dedicated to emotionally and financially support[ing] her son. Today, Audrey looked very anxious, and she confided that she had to tell her son, that his ex-​partner was expecting a baby by her new partner. She continued, “I am not too sure how he is going to react, or [how he will] be after the visit”. (Field notes, HMP Teddington, April 2013) Audrey’s example shows that families would often withhold information from the outside to protect their loved ones. Audrey used the waiting room as her own ‘backstage’ to prepare her to break the bad news to her son. Meanwhile, Audrey’s friend Peggy provided continual support for Audrey while visiting the prison. The waiting process can still capture a sense of feeling that time is standing still or moving too fast when preparing to break bad news. Queuing took place at the door to the visiting room and was evident in all three prisons. This was quite symbolic, as there was a sense of relief when the visiting room door opened and many of the families felt a sense of achievement because this was another hurdle out of the way on the journey to visiting their loved ones. Audrey’s example shows that families would often withhold information from the outside to protect their loved ones. Audrey used the waiting room as a space to recuperate her feelings and to rehearse on what she planned to say to her son. The waiting room captured feelings around time that were provoked by standing still or moving too fast when preparing to break bad news. Lastly, it is also important to understand how travelling from the point of view of families can alter personal journeys due to prison transfers. A large majority of families experienced visiting more than one prison due to their relatives transferring from one prison to another. Families discussed that prison transfers can be made abruptly, so for many families they did not know about their loved one’s transfer until the last minute. This contributes to Bissell’s (2007) concept of ‘quiescing travel time’ in that as families are continuously moving they feel a sense of displacement. This movement is not by choice, rather the obligatory travelling has been imposed by the rules and regulations of the prison system. For Katie, waiting was based on doing practical things to distract her while her loved one was inside. She deliberated that her loved one was in prison and should be punished, but at the same time she was continuously waiting for things to be done for her loved one. The continuous delays within the prison were affecting her on the outside, which led to Katie continuously experiencing forms of institutional waiting.

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‘The standard family to be thrown into this, and not getting to speak to them for 24hours. And be told he is not going to HMP Teddington he is going to HMP Toluca, who you phone, things like that –​if your solicitor doesn’t know. It’s simple things. There are bad people, I get that –​but there is human rights and things. [They] put you in the loop as to where they [are] going exactly. Give him access to clothes and have to wash his boxer shorts every day in the shower for a week. And dry them over the radiator, I mean that’s not. … It’s things like that, but then that impacts me because you feel bad. He has no money for the week. Then you are home and you can’t eat, you feel bad because he is not eating. … I understand its punishment, but to not give them their underwear. On Friday night, I put in a couple of T-​shirts and a belt, because Neville has [to use] a lace to tie his jeans up. He had to take a lace out of his shorts to tie his jeans up, because they are too baggy around the waist. And that was Friday and when I was in, he still didn’t have his things. You know it takes so long, but it’s got to [be] sniff[ed] by the dogs. But why does it take so long?’ (Katie, mother, HMP Toluca) Similarly, we can also extend this discussion by exploring the role of queuing in response to the experiences of families of prisoners.

Queuing as a state of waiting Armstrong (2018) identifies the purpose of the corridor prison to analyse how time and space is situated to understand the experiences of prisoners. The author details the role of queuing and how this can be described to be in the middle of a person’s mobility and immobility for those imprisoned, in which, she quotes that the corridor is a space that has a social purpose but at the same time it can be a space to ‘seen, counted and disciplined’ (Armstrong, 2018: 149). Every prison had a corridor that served a ‘social purpose’ of mediating between the waiting room to the visiting room. In each site, the architecture of the prison corridor was distinctively different and the corridor was significant to link the waiting to the visiting room. This demonstrates that families are continuously stuck or immobile due to the intensive waiting periods between the waiting room and the visiting room. At HMP Shawshank, families needed to climb up a staircase and then wait in a passageway to enter the visiting room. At times, families were frustrated during the long waiting periods of standing still in the corridor. As mentioned in Chapter 3, the corridor was narrow, with children’s cartoon characters printed on the walls, a symbolic attempt by Shawshank to move towards a progressive, family-​friendly environment. While the décor served a purpose, the corridor was still bleak and claustrophobic for families, and 79

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which, for many, still ‘added time’ before they saw their loved ones. In HMP Toluca and HMP Teddington there was a room that separate the waiting and visiting rooms. The room served to search families discreetly and away from others, unlike in Shawshank. Within HMP Teddington and HMP Toluca, families would line up outside of the door 15 minutes before they could enter and this cannot be described as a formality, as it was, in fact, an unspoken rule. There were no verbal or written rules for people to do this. Queuing for families was a form of mentally preparing for the visit, which meant being able to organise themselves before they entered. As Hage (2009) argues, queuing can also suggest that as one waits for something (or someone) for so long, they invest in the outcome. However, Schwartz (1975) argues that queueing can confuse and perpetrate a sense of ‘ignorance’ on how long one should wait. Auyero (2010: 858) conceptualises ‘indeterminate waiting’ to understand the link between ‘poor people and the welfare bureaucracy’. In many prisons, the pains of queuing were exacerbated due to families being notified to queue to the visiting room by calling an ID number, however for children’s visits, families were referred to by their personal name by the prison officer. Frustratingly, while there seems to be flexibility for prisons to be able to refer to families by their personal names, most choose not to. Rather, the choice to call them by their ID number resonates with other institutions, such as the job centre, and being called to see an agency worker (Auyero, 2010), which can be a form of shame but also is experiences as draconian. The queuing system is often discretionary across all three prisons and there were different rules to suit each prison. So, families found the need to retrain themselves every time they had to visit a new prison. As I observed, the prison officer could be described as a ‘gatekeeper’ for families to move across the waiting room to the visiting room. As the prison officer walked into the waiting room at HMP Shawshank to call the first set of families to enter the prison visiting room a wave of silence travelled across the waiting room. As the need to wait was prolonged in the waiting room, there was also a sense of exhilaration experienced by families in the uncertainty of moving from the waiting room to the visiting room. Shawshank’s strict regulations lacked flexibility on timing for families to attend prison visits, however, Toluca was different, and the family-​friendly agenda touched upon needing to be flexible in terms of timing for prison visits. Unlike HMP Shawshank, HMP Toluca would still allow families into the visiting room even if they arrived after the expected arrival time. However, families who arrived late were often delayed further, as they would have to wait for the door to open to the visiting room. The following observation captured the implications that had occurred after a family arrived slightly late: 80

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I went to speak to someone that had arrived late [Carol]. Carol was very happy to talk but she needed to go in and she was very worried about going in late. She was pacing up and down the waiting room and started to bang on the FCO’s window. But none of the officers were responding. She kept on repeating herself, as to when she was allowed in. She kept on asking me when she was allowed to go in. I didn’t know the answers, so I felt helpless. But since I was the only person in the waiting room, I needed to assure her someone will be on their way. This was the moment, where I found that I was taking on a supportive role, where I was trying to assist her by calming her down, in order for her visit. It took up to fifteen minutes for someone to come to open the door, and there was a sense of relief from her and also myself. (Field notes, HMP Toluca) For Carol, there was a sense of urgency, and a feeling of powerlessness, due to the lack of information received about when the door was opening. This led to a sense of anger and to attempts to get answers through ‘banging on the FCO’s window’. The need to queue is a pivotal aspect of waiting and it contributes to the deeper conversations about how social control is enforced during prison visits. It is important to continue these discussions by exploring the concept of ‘shameful waiting’ to depict feelings of disenfranchisement that can be related to forms of waiting.

‘Shameful waiting’ As I have argued, feelings of waiting are based on processes of ‘othering’ and ‘exclusion’, which can lead to feelings of being shamed. Furthermore, Pardy (2009) argues that shame is inherent to not blending in with what is considered the norm. The author explores shameful waiting from exploring both forms of ‘acute and chronic waiting’: both of these types of waiting interconnect time and space together –​‘acute’ relates to a short period of time of waiting including an appointment or an object, however, ‘chronic’ relates to such a long period of time between the desired outcome and the realities that is being faced. Interestingly, Pardy argues that there is a temporal link between embarrassment and shame –​and the difference between them is dependent on time: in fact, embarrassment can be described as ‘acute’ and shame as ‘chronic’. Both examples of acute and chronic waiting have been a key disposition for families in respect to understanding on how they have been shamed for short bursts to a long period of time during the incarceration period. We can contextualise this dialogue with some of the existing literature on shame and families of prisoners, including Condry (2007) on ‘secondary shame’ and later on Adams and McCarthy (2019: 183) explored ‘cultural 81

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shame’ to understand the experiences of South Asian parents of incarcerated young men. Importantly, Kotova (2020) pointed out that the neoliberal agenda has advocated harmful policies that exacerbate forms of shame for the most vulnerable groups. Therefore, it is important to contribute contemporary literature from feminist geographies and families of prisoners to understand that the consequences of punitive policies advocated by the prison and welfare system can lead to forms of ‘shameful waiting’. We can describe that families’ feelings of shame can be linked to a form of ‘stuckedness’, and this left them physically and emotionally paralysed, due to the emotions surrounding a sense of shame and fear. The voices of the families in this chapter bely contextualised feelings of waiting for the ‘uncertain’ due to their loved one’s incarceration, and in this process, there were episodes where they experienced forms of shaming. All of these testimonies are examples of acute waiting (embarrassment) and chronic waiting (shame). However, I can also extend this to understand that shame can lead to emotive feelings around fear and further disenfranchisement. Katie described the fear about disclosing the truth to clients of her partner’s business, due to financial consequences. Furthermore, Amy spoke about the impact of gossiping in her local community regarding her parents’ incarceration. She spoke about the feelings of degradation in response to the judge’s summing up of her mother’s sentence: ‘Some of them can be very helpful, and some of them look down at you. Talk down to ya, treat you all the same … Patrick [Katie’s partner] is scared he will lose his contracts. So I think it has leaked out a bit and you know how gossip tends to spread slightly. … So I am hoping that will be fine, because it wasn’t anything to do with their work, involving them to bring their business down. So we are trying to keep it as quiet as possible. … The only person I have told, I have told my boss and I told one of my friends and that’s [it] –​everybody else thinks I am off sick. … Even some of my family and his family, don’t know about it.’ (Katie, wife, HMP Toluca) Katie acknowledged that the imprisonment was separate to her partner’s business, but this was overridden by worrying about idle gossip that could lead to her partner’s business being affected and this led to inherent forms of shame. As Katie was most concerned about being a victim of ‘societal stigmatisation’, Katie responded by trying to protect her identity through keeping this a secret from her partner’s clients, her work colleagues, and some of the family. Amy described her feelings of being humiliated, because her mother and father were being reported about in the media. She spoke intently about feeling ashamed, as she lived in a small, tight-​ knit community. These forms of shame were sustained for a long period 82

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of time. Katie and Amy spoke about how responding to judgement by coworkers and the community led to many families feeling ostracised by society. Both spoke about the need to conform to certain values to make sure they were still accepted. “It was all over the newspapers, and we live in a small village, where everyone knows us … it was just humiliating, and consequently the judge was very harsh and used the fact that my mother was a Christian against her.” Pardy (2009) identified that shame can affect the body by producing a sense of ‘emotional flatness’ that can lead to feelings of hopelessness. Consequently, this can lead to families experiencing feelings of loneliness and isolation and this is exemplified in the testimonies in this section. Chloe spoke about the need to move to another location, due to the continuous shame inflicted on them, due to having a loved one in prison: “We have been trying to find another place to live, so we can get a bigger place … plus we have been getting harassed where we do live, right.” The shame affected them to the point of having no choice about where to reside. Chloe balanced this reasoning of choice by justifying that she needed to relocate due to wanting to find another place as opposed to experiencing feelings of shame and humiliation. Further to this, Alexandra related her experience of taking her children to school and continuously worrying that they may share with others that their father is in prison, which would lead to the teachers starting to gossip. Alexandra spoke about the need to keep her partner’s incarceration a ‘secret’ due to feeling judged by the response of the school: “It does have an impact and think they might say something to some of the kids at school. And they [the teachers] might mention something to someone else.” Madeline spoke about feeling a sense of shame due to the crime her son committed. She identified that her son was convicted of murder. She spoke intensely about the fact that it was not only her family devastated but also the victim’s family as well. She cautiously identifies that alcohol is a trigger to violence and that shame became a symptom of her son’s sentence due to the consequence of his drinking. ‘You feel ashamed. It is not only the boy’s family, it is Gavin’s [the victim of the crime) family as well –​sisters, aunties, and uncles –​they are all embarrassed, it is not a nice thing to do. The prisoners ya know, kind of join together, “oh I dun it but I was mad with it, oh I dun it but I was drunk”. Nine times out of ten, I don’t think they would have done it if they didn’t have anything in them.’ (Madeline, mother, HMP Toluca) Shaming is inevitable and is a symptom of the incarceration process and further to this shameful waiting has been present in spaces inside and outside 83

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of the penal system. It is important to argue that the process of waiting can lead to emotions of fear and uncertainty, and consequently many families experience a sense of degradation and humiliation. Despite all of the negative associations with waiting, there was for some families a need to be hopeful as an investment to the uncertainty around waiting.

Hopeful waiting Hopeful waiting is based on several aspects, including the transition from remand to waiting to go to court. We can describe these experiences as being ‘liminal’, whereby many families identified they were in the middle of experiencing a range of changes. Many described their feelings as being in limbo, in which their loved ones were on remand, due to not knowing what the outcome would be after going to court. I spoke to a lady called Bianca who spoke about looking forward to when her partner was sentenced: ‘I am going to be happy when he is away or sentenced, as I will not be pressured in to coming to visits for four days a week. I think there is an expectation for me because the visits are available daily. And serving a sentence will only mean three days a month. … This prison has been the worst for him, as he is locked up for 23 hours a day and is out for recreation for 45 minutes. And I would prefer if he was transferred, because before he was transferred from Toluca to Farnleigh, and I really like it there, but here is not nice.’ (Bianca, partner, HMP Shawshank) Another example of this is Mariah, who spoke about her experiences of her partner being on an electronic tag before he was imprisoned. Mariah spoke about the time of being together and preparing as a family for him to be sentenced: ‘We thought he wouldn’t be out by then, he would get sentenced from then. He was out on bail, he was out for a very long time before he got sentenced but they put him on tag … he was on tag for about three or four months. He then got sentenced. He went in March, it was after Christmas. He had less than a year out before he got sentenced. He had that time together and obviously we knew he would get sentenced at some point. We didn’t know when. But it was just nice to have that time as a family. And also we knew it was coming, and longer he was out here, the longer he was to come out again.’ (Mariah, partner, HMP Blakedown)

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Both women were preparing for the next transition, and this was based on their partners starting their sentences. Bianca described the sentencing process as allowing her to start her new routine, which was not based on the expectation to visit every day, and thus gave her free time away from the prison. Bianca also confirmed that being sentenced would provide more autonomy for her partner by allowing him to get involved with more activities outside of his cell and to allow time for recreational and educational activities. Bianca also said that his sentence was not suitable to the confinements of HMP Shawshank, but that he should be transferred to a different prison that is more accommodating. Mariah’s partner was confined within the home while he was on bail. This meant he would have to adhere to prison-​like but in the home setting. Mariah also described that the time at home led to waiting a longer period than when he was in prison. Hopeful waiting is the desire for positive change, and this was not uncommon; it resonated with Muriel, who expressed the hope that her son-​in-law would be a good father once he was released. Meanwhile, Aaron notes that he has seen glimpses of change with his partner, but there are times she reverts back to her old self. Lastly, Ebony describes feeling hopeful, due to now seeing the prison as having a positive effect on her daughter: ‘If he messes about and the weans get messed about, I just wouldn’t allow it. … He seems quite keen and that. I might be wrong; I have got a bit of faith in him that he is gonna be a good dad. I know, if he just spends time with him that’s all I can ask for him. I have done it this time because of the situation. But if he goes back to jail for any reason he won’t be seeing the baby next time because it will not happen.’ (Muriel, mother, HMP Toluca) ‘Sometimes I think I have been through a lot with Vanessa [partner] … and there are times she seems to be motivated, she is trying. But then she keeps on asking if I can get her this and that. But then she had a first day released, and when she come out I dropped the kids and she was playing with the little girls … she seems more calmer and more alert, whereas before it was chaotic. … Anything that was said she would take it out of context. All of the Bizzies [slang for prison officer] say she is a lot calmer. … I can see things are improving and I can feel it.’ (Aaron, father and ex-partner of women incarcerated, HMP Blakedown) ‘Not [at] first, no, prison was not suitable, because obviously at the start it was heartbreak and now I think prison is the place for her as this is the third time. … She has a drug problem … [but] she adores her kids. It’s just the fact that she has got a problem that she has got.

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But her kids are her kids. She spends as much time as she can with her kids.’ (Ebony, mother, HMP Teddington) Muriel, Aaron, and Ebony have all taken on the sole carer role; all expressed a sense of hope but also exasperation. Ebony described that hope was based on seeing her daughter changed for the better and she spoke about the prison as a ‘safe place’ for her daughter for a temporary time due to her drug addiction. However, Aaron also conveys a sense of fear and anxiety that his partner will revert to her old behaviour. In Muriel’s quotation, a driver for her motivation and patience was that her purpose was to support her grandchildren, but she also sought a sense of hopefulness by relying on her son-​in-​law to be a ‘good father’. Many of the families often experienced another form of waiting, namely waiting for decisions surrounding their loved one’s imprisonment. These decisions were taken by the prison or other external agencies, including social services. This was another form of hopeful waiting, as many families patiently anticipated the outcome of decisions on appeals, or to find out if imprisoned relatives had received their items of clothing. This is shown in the following three accounts. The first observation came from a family member who was not given any information about when their loved ones would receive the clothes that sent to them. Following this, Madeline and Katie spoke about the appeal and sentencing process ain terms of waiting. It was Thursday evening, and I was sitting next to the mother and the girlfriend of a prisoner. The mother was very anxious and was in a state of limbo, as she was unable to understand why there would be a delay in sending clothing to her son: Alison said, “My son has been in prison so many times, there has not been a time where my son was out for a long period of time, and I cannot think the last time my son was out for Christmas”. She started to speak about the prison officer [who was at reception]. She said “I handed a pair of trainers in but he is not going to get it until Monday” [today is Thursday]. She confided in me and said, “He has no shoes apart from the ones with holes. He gave a guy a pair of shoes in here [after he was released], and now he is back –​the guy has not given them back to him”. She was very angry and panicked that her son will not have shoes to walk around in. (Field notes, HMP Toluca, 16 October) ‘Well he was gonna do it in the beginning, then the lawyer came up and he told him to do it. But he talked to some of the boys and they said look just keep your head down and get on with it, because if ya appealing, you will be up and down the jail all over the place so a lot of the boys don’t do it. … But he’s five years into a 12-​year sentence, 86

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but his appeal has not even come up yet. But that’s why a lot of them don’t do it, because it holds him back. In another three years, he should be in his top end. If he appeals, he doesn’t get to go.’ (Madeline, mother, HMP Toluca) ‘What I find is the prison service is very slow. So she [social worker] has done that report, she now has a week to return, basically back to the prison. So if you don’t return in a week, Patrick will never get released by 8 November … and he has been accepted for the [electronic] tag. So what I said to him, when [the FCO] told us yesterday, when that report goes back and hits the governor’s desk then a week, when he signs it off before they let him out.’ (Katie, partner, HMP Toluca) All three quotes highlight different circumstances that account for families waiting for some form of decision from the prison or outcome to occur. Alison was waiting to receive information that her son had received his trainers. Even though there are protocols in place within the prison stipulating the time institutions should take to complete certain actions, this sometimes does not meet the urgency that may be required by families and prisoners. Another aspect was Madeline’s example of her son deciding whether to appeal or not. His decision solely relied on information given by his lawyers and his fellow inmates. The appeal process was another example of waiting. The process of appeal can be described as a temporary delay, as it meant Madeline’s son’s daily routine was temporarily impacted upon, with his programmes stopping and possibly leading to further time inside prison. The appeal process is a risk which leaves prisoners and families in a vulnerable position. As families undergo an investment in waiting out the period of imprisonment, this investment entails a need for a positive outcome. ‘Institutional waiting’ can also be determined by the prisoner, leading to families feeling pressured to wait at home to receive phone calls. Ebony, who is a grandmother with a daughter imprisoned at HMP Teddington, describes that her day is confined to waiting for phone calls from her daughter: ‘The fact that you got to make your time in the day and the phone calls they make –​because you are only allowed to make a set times … if you wanted to go away for a day, and you have to wait for the nightfall. You start to feel bad you let them down for the phone call.’ (Ebony, mother, HMP Teddington) Waiting can be seen through the expectation of receiving a phone call from their loved ones. The lack of information on the time set for receiving phone 87

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calls often led to families being in limbo, as there was an uncertainty when the phone call would come. This has been exemplified by Mariah’s experience. ‘So, I was pretty much was just indoors, I would literally be by the phone all the time. I wouldn’t want to go out, just in case he phoned. I didn’t know how to cope, because it was my first experience of this happening and I pretty much just went in to myself and stayed indoors all day. I think I got a little bit depressed actually, but I felt a bit lost.’ (Mariah, partner, HMP Blakedown)

Conclusion On reflection, the concept of waiting is significant for families’ lived experiences as they weave in and out of the penal process. However, waiting can also be based on waiting for positive change, and many shared their hopes and aspirations on what a future would look like after the incarceration process. Either way, families are continuously waiting for something to occur, which can be typical of the prison system. As waiting has contributed to the experiences of families of prisoners, there has been an important dialogue to understand how waiting can occur over space, time, and geography; furthermore, waiting has been attributed to caring responsibilities for both prisoners and children. In response to feminist geographies, waiting can be an inherent part to understanding the geographical landscape of experiences from the prison to the home. We can contribute to the fields of feminist geographies and the sociology of time by identifying that the practices of waiting are inherently oppressive for many families, and that has an added dimension for those who care for children. Consequently, waiting is another form of social control that leads to harm around shame, fear, and even resentment. We can argue that the emotions centred around waiting is to work towards a positive or better life. While there were negative feelings attributed to the processes of waiting, we can argue that there was a sense of resistance to overcome barriers centred around the prison system and welfare state. In the next chapter, we look further into this to understand the prisms of coping mechanisms and how this shapes the experiences of families of prisoners.

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Surviving the incarceration process: resilience to time Resilience has been a contributing factor for families to find a way to ‘survive’ the incarceration process; families like Catherine describe the responses to time by advocating for a new routine that can replace absent space/​time due to having a loved one incarcerated. Many families spoke profoundly about being assertive in different spaces/​places by advocating a sense of empowerment that challenges authoritarian figures, like the prison and thereafter welfare institutions. The concept of ‘coping’ is not a new topic in response to the experiences of families of prisoners; in fact, there has been a lot of conversations on this topic in the existing literature (Rocheleau, 2013; Johnson and Easterling, 2015; Manby et al, 2015; Markson et al, 2015; Agbakwuru, and Awujo, 2016; McCarthy and Adams, 2018; King and Delgado, 2020; Siddall, 2020; Niełaczna, 2021) about defining coping as an effect of the incarceration period. Further to this, Lazurus and Folkman (1984) argue that coping is an intended response of resilience to external and internal stresses. This can only be applied if the individual makes significant changes to their cognitive and behavioural processes. While these are all imperative, it is important to discuss coping more in the context of the geography and criminology disciplines, and to extend this dialogue by exploring coping practices that are intersected with issues related to social inequalities. It is important to expand on how coping strategies are implemented in certain spaces, and the way families manage emotions in these designated spaces. In response to the existing literature, it is important to contextualise that ‘coping’ factors are significant for the most vulnerable, and that the ‘state of vulnerability’ can be a means to be active and challenge the status quo. Most importantly, the significance of ‘coping’ contributes to the relationship with space and time in respect of the prison and welfare institutions. As mentioned, ‘time’ has been critical in helping to understand the lifespan of prisoners and their families in relation to before, during, and after incarceration (Wahidin, 2006; Moran, 2012a, 2012b; Manby et al, 2015; Agbakwuru, and Awujo, 2016; Armstrong, 2018; Foster, 2019a, 2019b; Kotova, 2019; Gashi, 2021). It is important to extend this discussion by arguing that ‘resilience’ to time is a response from families that addresses the complexities experienced due to the incarceration period. In fact, the need for families to push back ‘incarceration time’ creates feelings of empowerment. 89

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Feminist geographers have identified ‘activism’ as being significant for women to improve individual and societal circumstances coupled with a need to advocate a fight for equality and justice. Scholars in this field identified that ‘care’ can be a weapon of oppression and that ‘practices of care’ have fallen into the hands of informal networks, including friends and communities. The role of care has been ‘politicised’ due to the substantial unwarranted public cutbacks in public services, and consequently many families in this study have fallen victim to the political changes surrounding the practices of care. Testimonies, like those of Maureen and Ricardo, who were most affected by their children being incarcerated, demonstrate the need for there being a primary caring role for grandparents. The draconian policies governing access to governmental financial assistance led to Maureen and Ricardo experiencing a range of stress factors when they adopted caring responsibilities. Maureen described how she had all the caring responsibilities, but few legal rights to make decisions on behalf of her grandchildren. This disparity contributes to inequalities surrounding practices of care. As a result, many families feel a sense of disempowerment and lack of agency, which this chapter deals with, that is, how resilience has been significant in addressing the injustices surrounding the incarceration period. There are some parallels to draw from feminist geographies regarding practices of activism as a way forward that can resonate with the testimonies outlined in this chapter. It strengthens the argument that activism, in the sense that I am using the term, is based on ‘subtle changes’ that contribute to improving families’ confidence and self-​esteem. In correspondence with Chapter 5, the presence of ‘time’ is significant to families’ experiences in ‘waiting’ and it is important to extend this dialogue by examining time in response to coping strategies. ‘Time’ is a signifier for many families, through keeping busy to distract them from the complexities of their loved one’s incarceration. There has been a lot of conversation on the need to self-​fulfil by actively moving away from the time constraints in the prison, and to be independent by taking part in personal interests like hobbies. Previous and existing studies have shown that coping can be distinguished according to whether or not there are ‘positive and negative’ associations to surviving the incarceration process. For example, Testa and Fahmy (2021) argued that there is a need to use the ‘COPE scale’ to distinguish between functional and dysfunctional strategies1 of the incarceration process during the COVID-​19 pandemic. These strategies determined how families reacted to the prison, families, and dealing with the responses to COVID-​19. However, some of

The COPE scale breaks down coping behaviours into ‘functional coping’ –​positive reframing, humour, acceptance, and religion –​and ‘dysfunctional coping’ –​self-​distraction, denial, behavioural disengagement, venting, and self-​blame.

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these strategies identified are nothing new; rather, some of these strategies resonated with those adopted by the families I interviewed. Furthermore, there is a need to extend this discussion on how these strategies are depicted in each space/​place, and how these strategies affect families’ well-​being. It is also important to be cautious in terms of using abstract concepts like ‘function’ and ‘dysfunction’ to determine whether activities/​emotions are positively or negatively associated. In fact, I would argue that ‘self-​distraction’ can also be linked to positive experiences, for example, families participating in extra activities, meeting friends/​families, or spending time away from spaces that resonate with the loved one who is incarcerated. It can also be argued that the negative factors, like ‘self-​blame and venting’, can also be a trigger for families to take on forms of self-​activism to challenge the system. This can be found in the examples of pockets of families campaigning for justice via grassroots organisations like JengbA (Joint Enterprise Not Guilty by Association) or Southall Black Sisters. While it is important to not overly generalise these claims, there is a need to argue that families can create a sense of ‘agency’ that may develop out of a mechanism of self-​blame and venting. This chapter will, thus, explore the role of coping mechanisms in assisting our understanding of how families survive the incarceration process. In the first section of this chapter, it is important to argue that ‘keeping busy’ is part of the subtle changes that enable families to take an ‘active’ part in their lives. While this is not an overt form of activism, keeping busy has contributed significantly to improving aspects of families’ identities by providing a distance away from the incarceration process. Second, the next part of this chapter will explore the role of social support as a coping mechanism, rather than just as a means of social capital. Criminologists (for example, Laub and Sampson, 2001; Brunton-​Smith and McCarthy, 2016) have identified that social support can assist in reducing desistance. However, there is a need to acknowledge that informal networks can be a key part of the changes families make to survive the incarceration process. In this chapter, I will argue that social support is inherent as a positive association to survive the incarceration process. Last, this chapter will bridge some of the conversations already shared in Chapter 5 as a means of understanding the ways of seeing hope as a coping mechanism. Many families saw planning their future to survive the incarceration process and it was also a way of challenging time within this process.

‘Keeping myself busy’ ‘Keeping myself busy’ had several connotations for families in this study. This differed depending on the context and the specific space/​place. As mentioned, the signifier of ‘time’ is essential for distracting people from the reality of an absent relative, a process Holmes (2018) describes as ‘time is a 91

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driver’. This has an impact on how the body experiences different spaces. Further to this, Lapp et al (2010) argue that ‘keeping busy’ was pertinent for the spouses of troops deployed to the Iraq War. The role of keeping busy has been a way to manage a strict routine that helps respond to the absence of a family member. It is important to argue that ‘keeping busy’ can also be linked to spending time with friends as a way of staying distracted. However, the significance of ‘time’ can lead to negative connotations of feeling uncertain about the future and feeling restricted in making long term goals/​decisions. There has been some discussion on exploring activities built around ‘family life’ as a collective act, such as ‘keeping busy’ as a means of time out from being involved in their loved one’s incarceration (Lapp et al, 2010; Hamilton et al, 2011; Shirani and Henwood, 2011; King and Delgado, 2020; Gashi, 2021). Another collective act that has been discussed in existing literature has been religion; arguments suggest that religion provides families a sense of meaning to their lives and many spoke about the incarceration period as a part of their journey. In the context of families of prisoners, Adams and McCarthy (2019) argued that religion was a prevalent coping mechanism for minority ethnic parents of incarcerated young people. Parents spoke about religion giving them a purpose to find a greater meaning for the reasons behind their son’s incarceration. Interestingly, the authors identified that the intersection of race with gender contributed to analysing religion as a significant coping mechanism which guided families as a way forward around positivity and hope. While religion was not a dominant feature in the testimonies of families, Ricardo did speak about the profound impact religious symbolism had on his wife: ‘She is buying a lucky charm Buddha –​she is superstitious. It’s not from China –​it’s from India. She is buying them and she is looking from stores. It started off by saying you must have been cursed. But literally we would throw out anything that was been given to us –​ because that could be bringing bad vibes in the house. … That’s her safety net –​she revolves back to that. She even said get a clairvoyant, right, come in and do our hall.’ (Ricardo, father, HMP Blakedown) Families’ testimonies also reveal the significance changing their routine as a way of changing their attitude to time. While this was significant in the scope of this study (see also Adams and McCarthy, 2019), families’ testimonies touch significantly upon their routine as changing their attitude to time. This resonated with Sarah, who disclosed that planning ahead would not be appropriate but that taking it “day by day” is a survival mechanism. She stated the need to be busy allowed her to not dwell on the incarceration process. 92

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‘Keeping myself busy, I don’t think about it. When you do stop and think about things that’s when you start to think about things. It’s a positive outlook. It is not going to be forever. It is gonna fix and it is gonna get better. If you let it get to you then you had it, you know, you just need to go day by day. I don’t go any further for at least a week cause I don’t know what’s gonna happen. So I take it day by day. Things are going to change.’ (Sarah, wife, HMP Toluca) Similarly, Katie spoke about the need to not ‘stop thinking’ as a way of coping: the need to not focus and to remove oneself emotionally away from the complexities of the event of the incarceration process. ‘Just get on and I don’t think about. The more I keep going, the more you just … don’t get me wrong there are days, I think oh my god I just need a day off to myself. Otherwise, that is my own personal … not everybody can do that. The first day or two your world is broken, but you know what, I am one of these people –​it is what it is. So, it is mentally, you just have to deal with this now. And then that’s what you do. You just start putting stuff in place … anything to keep you busy. So that you are not stopping and thinking about it, it tends to be my coping mechanism.’ (Katie, partner, HMP Toluca) Sarah and Katie decided to not fixate on the future but to keep time in perspective, in response to the absence of family time (Kotova, 2019), and both decided the need to reconnect with ‘time’ by reconstructing their daily routine without their absent partner. It was the need to fill the ‘physical space’ by replacing this with new activities. Interestingly, this was not always the case for all families. Anna described that keeping busy was not to stay away from the prison, but to be closer to it. Kotova (2019) identified that ‘family time’ was essential in the incarceration process and this was constantly re-​enacted in the prison visiting room. This resonated with Anna’s experiences who spoke about the way to maintain contact with her son through the regular visits. Her son was incarcerated in the same town Anna lived in, which was a huge benefit for her to be able to fit the prison visits around personal and work life. She also identified that there was a level of trust with some of the prison officers due to them having gone to the same school as her. Anna felt a sense of relief in seeing familiar faces in such an alienating and hostile environment. While the closeness to the prison is important for her to survive the incarceration process, she also realised that her workspace is a sanctuary to keep her mind distracted from her son’s incarceration. ‘I work a lot. I keep active. If I was in the house and I wasn’t working as much. It gives you more time to think. So I tend to work a lot of 93

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extra shifts, just to keep myself busy. I feel now Paul [Anna’s son] is in HMP Toluca, I can cope a lot better. He is so close. If I don’t have a visit one day, I can book [the] next. If he was a distance away –​maybe the system is meant to do that –​the only people they are hurting are the families. If I wanted to go and see him, it feels like he is still at home with me.’ (Anna, mother, HMP Toluca) This was similar to Ebony, who spoke about occupying time with mundane chores, but also spending time with the kids. The significant gender dimension to these practices is that those most likely to be affected are the main female carer, through responsibilities of domestic tasks including chores and childcare responsibilities. ‘I like to keep busy … cooking, cleaning. … Doing things with kids to keep them occupied is important, soft areas and parks, whatever is affordable. … Time has to be spent with the kids. You feel you have to do these things for the kids because their mam is not in their life. You try harder cause you got to give them extra because their mam is not here. The youngest one misses their mum terribly … I feel for her.’ (Ebony, mother, HMP Teddington) However, other relatives spoke about the need to do extra activities as a way to cope with the incarceration process. ‘Me and my wee girl are doing marital arts. We were doing tae kwondo and the instructor was being a bit of a t*** and bad-​mouthing anybody and everybody. We may start mixed martial arts, that’s in Falkirk and started. … Because of my health I have only been once, but my wee girl will be back tomorrow. That’s once a week. My wee girl gets hyperactive but for me it gets a lot of stress out. Tae kwondo was quite good because we have entered competitions and I have won and awarded to us in December. She once to go back to swimming lessons and she are on level eleven but the wee one is swimming.’ (Mary-​Beth, wife, HMP Teddington) The need to maintain ‘keeping busy’ was also exercised through extracurricular activities. For example, Aaron used exercise as a way to maintain positivity, and he also shared this mechanism with his kids: “I have just been going to the gym and that’s my main focus. … Making arrangements to go and get the kids something to eat or to see a show have an ice cream or watch a show or something, just playing with them really.” The need to use leisure activities with his kids was a key factor. The focus on spending time with family was also relevant for Karen, who also noted gardening as a way of distracting her through the incarceration process: “I like gardening. I enjoy 94

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being out at the garden … family really. I spend time with my mum and stuff like that, like my gran.” The need for keeping busy was an essential factor in surviving the effects of incarceration. Many families spoke about the importance of being active and focused. This was also a means of using this time to participate in extra activities that allowed them to create a space between the prison and the home. The families used these activities as a form of distraction which helped to create autonomous spaces that gave them a sense of agency. In parallel with this, testimonies from families identified that informal networks, like families and communities, are most likely to assist in providing support for families seeking to fill their time and space.

Social support The existing literature has identified various types of social support as a coping mechanism for the families of prisoners (Braman, 2007; Condry, 2007; Arditti et al, 2010; Turanovic et al, 2012; Bailey and Klien, 2018; King and Delgado, 2020). However, Turanovic et al (2012) argued that the level of social support differed among carers; some received levels of support, while the majority did not. The ones that were estranged from families and friends were most likely to have a challenging relationship with family members that were likely to not approve of their relationships with the person incarcerated. This was strongly significant for Bailey and Klien (2018), who identified that families of sex offenders lost informal networks due to the ‘excessive shame’ and social isolation from their loved one’s crimes. In this chapter, I will argue that the role of social support has been a progressive means for families to achieve resilience which overcomes challenges, especially for those from marginalised groups. Many of the testimonies of families show they relied on ‘informal’ networks more than formal support, which included older relatives. Such informal support networks adopted extensive roles due to the absence of the loved one in prison. Similarly, Rabaia et al (2018) discussed children of political detainees who adopted roles that resembled the paternal role to support their mothers, including securing part-​time jobs to assist financially. Further to this, social support went beyond extended family and many sought solace from friends or community members. This has been depicted in work of Christian (2005), who identified that relatives would form friendships with others from the prison as a means of support. Social support for many families differed across my sample. In fact, partners of prisoners were most likely to rely on their parents for additional support, while others would find support from close friends, such as Audrey and Peggy. Audrey found comfort with Peggy chaperoning her to and from the prison (as mentioned in Chapter 5). 95

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Similarly, Karen spoke about the importance of her mother in relation to security for her own children. This was very important as this was a way to cope, and a form of stress relief by being around her own parents. For Karen, her choice to move in with her mother was a form of stability for her own child, Hannah. Lastly, Kiera disclosed that her mother was a means to help her financially and to replace the time missed by their incarcerated loved one. ‘Moving in with my mum … I could have sat in the house upset, but it wasn’t fair for the kids to see how upset I was. So we went and stayed with her mum. Hannah wanted to stay with her nana, because she feels secure because there are two of us there rather than me being on my own.’ (Karen, wife, HMP Toluca) ‘My family and his family help a lot especially in last Christmas as I was worried I had not a lot of money but my mam helped out a lot with this. If I had didn’t have my family, I would be running out the door [laughs], but it is really hard. Nobody can do it on their own.’ (Kiera, partner, HMP Shawshank) Many families in this sample saw their own families as being stable, which allowed them to be open about their partner’s incarceration. The sense of security was relayed in Karen’s and Kiera’s narratives of being able to have financial and social opportunities that were once difficult due to having a loved one incarcerated. Similarly, Ebony discussed the importance of her husband’s support during her daughter’s incarceration. In fact, it was only from her husband that she sought solace and emotional and physical support. Ebony had isolated herself from having friends or confiding in other family members, which had led to her feeling she was the main person dealing with the incarceration process. She was definite in stating that there was the expectation for her as a female to care, but it was normalised, as she was the only one being supportive. ‘My husband has been there for me … he has been there in respect to driving the kids to school; driving to the prison visit. However, if I wasn’t here … I wouldn’t know how he cope [laughs]. There is definitely an expectation for us [referring to women] to take on the caring role. But I don’t have any friends or other family I just feels it my problem to deal with it.’ (Ebony, mother, HMP Teddington) Ebony elaborated in her conversation that support is still limited due to the continuous care burden placed on women. However, the ability to cope was based on her husband’s unprecedented support by being present and in the moment. Social support was also spoken about in the context of acquiring 96

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it, yet still being independent enough to cope (Hamilton, 2012). Sophie identified the need to be independent and to raise her child. However, she felt she was being judged by a family contact worker in the prison due to the suggestion that someone else should bring her baby to the visits, which she interpreted as her not coping. ‘I wouldn’t want anybody else involved or bring up my child. I had family contact [Geraldine] in here –​she asked do you think you should take a break and someone else bring up the baby, and I was like ‘No’ [voice raised]. Why would I bring somebody from my family bring a new baby up to see his baby without his mum, where is the bonding and that. That was quite a shady thing to say. But that was just me. But would you give your new baby for someone else to bring up, to see his dad in prison. I was like no that’s not me –​she said just to give yourself a break –​no, that would upset me –​that would make me harassed, to do something that I shouldn’t be doing.’ (Sophie, wife, HMP Toluca) Sophie is like other family members who highlighted that there was a lack of engagement from formal support agencies such as governmental responses. As mentioned in Chapter 4, there was a level of distrust of the social services and the police. It is important to recognise that ‘informal social support’ is not always a choice for families; rather, it is the only option, due to the breakdown of and with formal agencies. Many families spoke about feeling disenfranchised due to the level of distrust in governmental organisations. This level of distrust was conveyed as these organisations being not in tune with families’ needs or feeling they are being too intrusive. For example, Ebony was unaware there was support from prisons for families. However, she quipped that she didn’t read any of the information displayed in the waiting rooms. She also disclosed that financial support had been a pertinent factor, but she made it clear this was still not enough for them to survive. ‘I didn’t even realise there was support in the prisons … I see the notices, but I don’t read any of them. I do get kinship support to help with paying things, but it is not enough. You can’t buy anything with it … as there is always something kids need. We have only just kinship before that it was a struggle and we just have to make it work.’ (Ebony, mother, HMP Teddington) Similarly, Mary-​Beth discussed feelings of distrust with her daughter’s school and social services. She felt they were punishing her due to her association with her partner in prison. 97

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‘They know what they need to know. After that they tried to stick their nib in. … I had somebody phoning up social services saying that I leave my daughter in the house on her own, which is a lot of rubbish because they know my partner is locked up and they were just trying to get a reaction off of me.’ (Mary-​Beth, wife, HMP Teddington) Mary-​Beth was furious about being made to feel like a bad mother because of the actions of social services. She expressed that her association with having a partner in prison led to feeling stigmatised; she felt that they were expecting her to be reactive. Many spoke about the distinct differences between formal and informal support in the case of coping mechanisms for families of prisoners. Many families were finding themselves in situations where they expected to be assisted; instead, they are demonised for having a loved one in prison. Families identified that surviving the incarceration period has largely been down to the support from informal support networks. This has been paramount in this research, with many families speaking about the importance of their close kinship relationship with parents and spouses being a stabilising factor.

Future orientation The need to challenge the incarceration process has led to many families thinking about seeking opportunities that provide a sense of hope. This is parallel, to some extent, with the narratives outlined in Chapter 5. It can be argued that resilience provided the basis for having hopeful expectations about what the future would be during and after the incarceration process. As mentioned in Chapter 5, families like Ricardo and Mary-​Beth were continuously experiencing pockets of ‘waiting’ due to the overzealous processes. However, many developed this resilience and asserted some type of authority in being able to look ahead to the future. This sense of ‘hope’ empowered many families to work through the incarceration process due to ‘metaphorically’ seeing an end point. Some of the relatives had a loved one on remand and this created a unique set of uncertainties and challenges that families experience. Sarah and Bianca described the restrictions placed on them due to the processes that are dictated by being on remand. The uncertainties were based on not having a direct outcome regarding whether their loved ones would be found guilty or not. Sarah’s and Bianca’s partners were on remand for at least six months before their trials were scheduled and therefore a lot of their time was spent on the waiting process. However, during this time, there was a sense of resilience and hope for an outcome of their partners’ trials. Sarah was committed to seeing through this time in prison and to focusing on a

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positive outcome: “I am waiting for his trial. And I am hoping he will be out of here. He shouldn’t be here and it is really frustrating.” Interestingly, Bianca’s outlook was based on preparing for her partner to be sentenced and to see this as a new chapter of being able to feel settled on the outside of the prison. Families that experienced remand spoke about the expectation of attending prison visits every day from their loved ones who were incarcerated. Bianca spoke about the unrealistic needs of her partner to see her every day and once he was sentenced these visits would reduce and this would enable her to have a more self-​fulfilling time. She also mentioned that the prison environment would improve once her partner was sentenced. ‘I am going to be happy when he is away or sentenced, as I will not be pressured in to coming to visits for four days a week. I think there is an expectation for me because the visits are available daily. And serving a sentence will only mean three days a month. … This prison has been the worst for him, as he is locked up for 23 hours a day and is out for recreation for 45 minutes. And I would prefer if he was transferred, because before he was transferred from Toluca to Farnleigh, and I really like it there, but here is not nice.’ (Bianca, partner, HMP Shawshank) However, other family members, including Muriel (a grandmother) and Aaron (a father), became the main carers of children during the incarceration process and spoke about the plans after the release of their loved ones. Muriel spoke about giving the father of the children she was caring for one last chance of being a good dad, about planning ahead after he was released from prison, and the means of being a ‘good father’. However, she also spoke about this with slight caution, out of fear of him going back to prison. ‘If he messes about and weans get messed about, I just wouldn’t allow it. … He seems quite keen and that. I might be wrong; I have got a bit of faith in him that he is gonna be a good dad. I know, if he just spends time with him that’s all I can ask for him. I have done it this time because of the situation. But if he goes back to jail for any reason he won’t be seeing the baby next time because it will not happen.’ (Muriel, mother-in-law, HMP Toluca) Similarly, Aaron spoke about the intentions of her partner being a main carer after the incarceration process and spoke about planning for his partner to be released for the weekend under the release on temporary licence. ‘Sometimes I think I have been through a lot with Vanessa [Aaron’s partner] … and there are times she seems to be motivated she is trying. But then she keeps on asking if I can get her this and that. But then she 99

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had a first day released, and when she come out I dropped the kids and she was playing with the little girls … she seems calmer and more alert, whereas before it was chaotic. … Anything that was said she would take it out of context. All of the Bizzies [slang for prison officer] say she is a lot calmer … I can see things are improving and I can feel it, so I look forward to when she comes out for her family visits.’ (Aaron, father and ex-partner of women incarcerated, HMP Blakedown) Aaron acknowledged the importance of spending time once his partner was out on temporary release. As a result, planning ahead had been a way to improve relations with his partner. He spoke about how his wife’s emotions were a lot calmer and had been better at strengthening relational ties. He finished by speaking about the importance of improving. While it is good to recognise that ‘hope’ for change can be a positive coping mechanism, a lot of families described feelings of hopelessness due to the restrictions on being able to physically move freely around different spaces. As a result, this restricted the level of opportunities and led to lacking a sense of hope. We can contextualise this argument with Ahmed’s (2004) concept of ‘collective emotions’ that describes emotions as concentrated for those that are excluded and included. These groups are separated by the status quo that identifies groups as the ‘accepted’ and others that as not. There are similarities with Braithwaite’s (1989) concept of ‘reintegrative’ and ‘disintegrative’ shaming that support Ahmed’s analysis of ‘collective emotions’. Families are shamed due to having a loved one incarcerated and for many they share a collective response in dealing with the process in which they have feelings of being excluded from both the prison and welfare system. ‘I was a state, I was crying. I couldn’t eat, I couldn’t sleep. I was just thinking constantly, you know, you do because only got set visit times –​you might only have three visits at once. You only have one visit a week in some prisons erm you feel as if, you know –​I have got a job, I have worked commitments.’ (Alicia, mother, HMP Teddington) ‘I don’t eat. I don’t sleep. I haven’t made any adjustments. I have thought about anything else apart from him going to prison. I got some information from Family Support … and I just freaked and put that away. Just cause basically his life has been ruined forever and there is nothing you can do about it. I am a biomedical scientist, in a hospital setting. It was only today work has made me take my mind off things, as it saves me sitting in the house crying.’ (Emily, wife, HMP Shawshank)

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‘I feel hopeless. I have never felt so hopeless in my life, especially having the newborn when he is convicted, with my son having disabilities and you have a newborn. You don’t never whether you are coming or going … you feel rotten he is not here.’ (Francine, wife, HMP Shawshank) ‘It was a huge adjustment for my oldest son … he started to wetting the bed and he was very scared if I went out that I wouldn’t come back.’ (Alexandra, mother, HMP Toluca) My initial questions asked the families about the types of coping mechanisms they had used to help with the experience of having a family member imprisoned. From the answers, many families experienced a sense of anguish. This feeling was represented by Alicia, Emily, Francine, Sophie, and Ricardo. Alicia spoke about not being able to rest, or continuously thinking about the prison visits. Emily identified that she was not ready to make any adjustments, and her partner’s conviction had led her to being unable to make any solid adjustments, including being unable to eat or sleep. Francine described feelings of hopelessness, and she had found it hard with her partner not being there, especially in supporting her son, who has disabilities, and a newborn. Sophie used the concept of grief to compare her experiences with losing a loved one to prison: “You are actually trying to find ways to cope. When your family goes away it is a bit like grief at first. It feels like grief when someone goes away. It actually gets harder as the days go along.” This grief was another form of despair, as the feelings of acceptance were not progressing. This ties in very well with Ricardo’s idea, in which he captured the moment through a metaphor about a piece of wood, with the wood symbolising his coping mechanisms. However, the wood was disintegrating, and there was nothing else to hold on to: “Do you know what I am like –​a drowning man and I am just hanging on to a piece of wood, and the piece of wood is getting smaller and smaller.” This metaphor described a feeling of being overwhelmed and powerless, as there was nothing to hold on to to help him survive. Many families described feelings of being stuck in one mindset, consequently, this led to further feelings of being immobile and not seeing a way to progress positively in life.

Conclusion Families expressed that time is significant to the adoption of coping strategies that deal with the adverse effects of incarceration. In this chapter, it has been highlighted that families engage in different ways of coping as

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a means to create a sense of agency and to resist the perils of incarceration. Furthermore, the concept of ‘time’ was significant for families because they had to pass the time by finding alternative ways of distracting them from the incarceration process. There were many examples of this in response to ‘keeping busy’, as well as to plan, which were pivotal factors for families trying to emotionally manage the incarceration process. It can be argued that resilience is an important part for families as a means to create a sense of agency under adversarial conditions, it can also be a way forward in fighting against the harms perpetrated by the system. Therefore, it is imperative to understand that families are not homogenous and can present distinctive ways of surviving the prison system as well as meeting familial needs.

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Families’ voices: creating a platform for families’ lives This chapter will conclude some of the key arguments arising from the experiences of families of prisoners. This book has conceptualised the roles of space, emotions, and identity in shaping the experiences of families of prisoners. The key message to take away from this book is the importance of an interdisciplinary lens with criminology and geography to analyse the experiences of families. Throughout this book, it has been important to empower the voices of families by examining in depth the different spaces that families are situated in and how they construct meaningful experiences. Before we dig in to capturing the key arguments put forward to address the three concepts that are an integral part of this book, including space, emotions, and social identities, it is important to address the political affiliations that have contributed significantly to shaping the social, economic, and welfare-​related social positions of families of prisoners. To start, it is important to echo feminist geographers’ sentiment that to address the needs of vulnerable groups it is important to do this from a perspective of ‘Politics’ rather than ‘politics’, and to present a platform that identifies the political nature that have immense implications on the concept of care and caring responsibilities for groups including families of prisoners. In this notion, it is also important to capture previous conversations about where families are situated when we discuss the role of social justice in the criminal justice system. Condry (2018) noted that families’ identities can often be neglected or heavily generalised as a homogeneous group when we are discussing issues surrounding social justice. There needs to be more of focus on the disenfranchisement of families’ experiences by focusing on one’s social position around gender, socio-​economic, and racial demographics, which are important to address when it comes to understanding the political ideologies in Scotland. In this book, there were clear gender and class disparities that were integrated with the geographical landscape families grew up in, including urban and rural areas that had an impact on sustaining a relationship with their imprisoned loved ones. The political structure in Scotland is a balance of neo-​liberalist ideas as well as being socially progressive. This has been reflected in the criminal justice system, whereby there are some policies that prioritise the needs and welfare of the individual. 103

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These values were often shaped by policies that resided on a national level, with some that were also influenced by the governance of the UK. The Scotland Act 1998 devolved many powers from Westminster, including full responsibility for the criminal justice system. In regard to families of prisoners, policies centred on this group was based on seeing the family as a way to rehabilitate the prisoner. The SPS pushed forward family orientated approaches including the ‘Children Visits Policy’ and ‘Child Protection Policy’ under the Family Strategy 2017–​2022. These policies shaped the culture of how prison visits should operate and ways forward to strengthen relationships between prisoners and their families. These are examples of the distinctive features that have been upheld by the SPS, whereby there is ‘strong emphasis on social work underpinning much of its penal policy’ (Lockwood et al, 2021: 5). This pushed forward the need for prison visits to be separate from the IEP system and to be a part of the conversations that were about invoking the rights for prisoners and their families (McCarthy and Adams, 2017; Lockwood et al, 2021: 5). Many of these policies have been underpinned by the European Convention on Human Rights and the focus of the ‘right to family life’ and the UNCRC’s Article 9 –​‘I have a right to live with a family who cares for me’. All of these policies shifted cultural and practical changes to redefine what quality prison visits could potentially look like for prisoners and their families. In 2019, the Farmer Review acknowledged examples of good practice in Scotland including the provisions that strengthened family ties with women offenders, for example, the Glasgow 218 project. Furthermore, in this book, there has been many conversations about strengthening the partnerships between the prison system and voluntary organisations. The voluntary sector has played an important part in facilitating services in prisons for families and at the same time working to eradicate some of the wider socio-​economic disparities that exist for those most disadvantaged. In this book, there were some important conversations on visiting centres in Scotland and these centres were symbolic in providing additional emotional, financial, and practical support for families that are visiting their loved ones in prison. Foster (2019: 465) describes the purpose of these spaces as a means to ‘socialise and interact’ and that these experiences contribute to the political shift in ensuring that prison visits are humane. While this book did not collect data in the visiting centres spaces, it is still important to recognise that there has been a political drive to strengthen partnerships between voluntary organisations and prison services. There is also a further important drive to acknowledge that these spaces could be seen as safe spaces for women, in which Christian (2005) identified that these places are another form of informal support for women to speak to other women and to produce meaningful relationships. This was evidenced in Chapter 3, with many women seeing the waiting room as a way to seek 104

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solace from other women, in particular in HMP Toluca. In this book, there has been a need to see the role of ‘care’ as linked to the informal support networks that are critical for family members. However, the reliance of informal networks also opens up discussion about the state of the welfare system which affects the rights and responsibilities for women to care. This discussion will be captured in more depth later to address the three concepts on space, emotions, and social identities.

Space The discourse on ‘space’ argues that power is distributed unevenly in institutions like the prison; this includes those that have power and those that do not. This book presents an interdisciplinary lens (criminology and geography) to argue that ‘space’ has created these inequalities that are inherent to issues around social identities including gender and class. Across this book, it is argued that the relationship between space and time is vital and this has shaped the experiences of families of prisoners. As Lefebvre (1974) argued, certain spaces like the prison automatically assume relationships that are determined by power. In the context of the core arguments of this book, power dynamics occurred in a range of spaces, from the prison waiting room and visiting room, and then beyond in the home and on to welfare institutions like social services and schools. Space was conceptualised in the context of how families experienced caring roles and responsibilities both in the prison and at home. Adopting ‘geographies of care’ (Dorrer et al, 2010; Bowlby, 2012; Evans et al, 2019) perspectives, this book delved into analysing on how the principles of space are situated in response to the visiting room and how this was used to facilitate familial ties. The practices of ‘care’ varied depending on the architectural layout of the visiting room and whether one could accommodate a child-​friendly environment for family members. In alignment with scholars in the family field (Comfort, 2008; Moran, 2015; Jewkes and Laws, 2020), this book has identified the importance of prisons finding creative ways to resemble the outside, like aspects of a nursery or a home. These initiatives have affirmed families’ sense of feeling at home and sense of belonging, and have reaffirmed roles formerly presumed in the home. This illustrates the interconnection of how the prison can be symbolic of outside institutions, which contributes to arguments that the prison should be a ‘fluid’ entity and not static. The role of ‘space’ has also been linked to families’ dismay over social control practices that are related to prison and the welfare state. In Chapter 4, the main arguments advocated that there needs to be a stronger partnership between ‘criminology and social policy’ and this will help to explain the relationship between the prison system and the welfare state. 105

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Chapter 4 documented many examples of ‘social control’ practices that were fluid across the prison and the welfare state. Families were scrutinised in trying to receive formal support from the state and this was primarily influenced by draconian ‘administrative’ processes. There were examples of this when experiencing the prison system to the welfare state and then receiving support by social services. All these examples present the subtle (yet harsh) realities of social control practices when engaging with governmental institutions. As a counterpart to this, families’ testimonies contributed to explaining the scrutinised ‘waiting’ process in various spaces, including the prison visiting room and the home. Families’ narratives illustrate that ‘waiting’ can be another example of social control that has dehumanised families to the extent of their feeling dependent on the system. Time is symbolic across all these arguments, which have contributed to understanding the significance of how this is situated in certain spaces. The concept of ‘time’ has been discussed in the context of the ‘waiting out of time’, which is a contribution to arguments surrounding ‘doing time’ that have been prominent in the existing literature on prisoners and their families (Wahidin, 2006; Foster, 2019a, 2019b; Jardine, 2019; Kotova, 2019). The role of time for families has been about ‘finding a purpose’ or way forward by dealing with the ‘complexities’ of the incarceration period. Further to this, ‘time’ is a signifier of surviving the incarceration period by adopting coping strategies to deal with the adversarial effects of incarceration. All of these are interrelated with the dimensions of ‘care and caring responsibilities’ that families experience during the incarceration period. The concept of space invokes conversations about the emotional responses families construct, explored in the next section.

Emotions Emotions play a significant role in the testimonies of families of prisoners, as each member drew on an emotional narrative to describe their journey. Theoretically, Ahmed (2004) identified ‘collective feelings’ as conceptualised by how we feel about those that share commonalities with us, but also how we feel about others in that collective. Families of prisoners can be recognised as a ‘collective’ that share a range of emotions that are interconnected to the prison system and the outside. These commonalities are based on negative associations that are compounded with feelings around anxiety, fear, uncertainty, shame, and humiliation. However, families have also come together to respond to the adversities of the incarceration process by adopting positive feelings around ‘hope’ and security. These emotions are the existence of the space that they are situated in and the relationships that occur within them. Feminist geographies have provided a platform to explore on how we 106

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can depict emotions in certain spaces to capture the relationship between the researcher and researched (Davidison and Milligan, 2004; Bondi, 2005; Pile, 2009). There is also another avenue whereby emotions can be an important resource in academia to promote avenues for change, in which Wright (2010) argues that there is a relationship between emotions and space to understand practices of social justice. Wright uses the example of emotions related to religious beliefs that can lead to feelings of a sense of belonging as well as discontent and anger, in which many groups used sentiments of religion as a way forward to improve social change and to campaign for social justice. We can relate this to exploring the relationship between emotions and social justice by documenting families’ experience in ‘surviving the incarceration’, whereby it is important to argue that families are not emotionally passive agents, rather, they have created spaces that empower their agency. This has been depicted across this book on ways families have experienced a sense of agency, this included the time shared with their loved ones to the hobbies that families adopted on the outside, addressed in Chapter 6. Emotions were also significant when families narrated the coping strategies adopted to survive the incarceration process. These emotions are based on surrounding a sense of relief but also feelings of belonging by relying on social support from informal networks like families and friends. Coping mechanisms presented feelings of ‘autonomy’ and ‘hope’ despite the challenges faced by the incarceration process. ‘Autonomy’ was projected by families creating a personal space for themselves that was separate to the incarceration time. Many spoke about ‘keeping busy’ to remain resilient to adversities that were perpetrated by the prison and welfare state. It also enabled families to take back some control by creating their own pockets of time away from the incarceration process. As mentioned, it can be argued that the ‘resilience to time’ can be linked to the need to make subtle changes that can be a way forward to helping to improve aspects of their lives. While these are not overt forms of activism, it does speak to the ideas of families resisting the challenges projected out of the incarceration process and to adopt strategies for them to overcome forms of adversity. It relates to some of the dialogues centred on feminist geographies (Davidson and Milligan, 2004; Sharp, 2007, 2009; Wright, 2010; MacLeavy et al, 2021) on the need to interconnect emotions and activism. MacLeavy et al (2021) add that daily activities that women exercise are forms of resistance, and these sentiments resonate with the experiences of families in this book. Responsibilities of care have been an important part of the families’ experiences, which has led to a diversity of feelings, which differed across spaces and changed as time progressed. However, it is also important to note that these emotions did not represent a form of passivity, but for many families experienced feelings of empowerment and ‘taking back control’. In this book, there has been a clear link between 107

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the role of space, emotions, and time in contributing to the experiences of families of prisoners. Existing literature (Crewe et al, 2014; Crewe, 2014; Laws and Crewe, 2016; Laws, 2018; Jewkes and Laws, 2020) identified that the prison is a site that constructs a range of emotions that are connected to certain spaces. This precludes the visiting room being seen as an ‘exceptional space’ for creating feelings of affection and belonging for prisoners and their families. Another contributing factor to this was the types of prison visits that families attended; Chapter 3 identified these feelings as being varied depending on whether families attended children’s visits or not. Many families described that ‘family time’ (Kotova, 2019) was important and the significance of this type of time was more effective in a child-​friendly environment that led to positive emotions like ‘care’ or affection. However, these emotions were maintained only for a temporary period due to the further tensions that were projected by the prison, which led to many families feeling constrained and criminalised. Also, families were dealing with outside pressures whereby they documented emotions that were centred on ‘anxieties and fears’ that were most likely to be experienced when dealing with outside agencies including the welfare state. Families shared testimonies around the scrutiny enforced by formal agencies like social services and schools and how this created feelings around insecurity that state interventions would lead to families being further torn apart. In this section, emotions have been critical to explaining the experiences defined in the penal space and beyond. Most importantly, these discussions were centred around the need to understand experiences from the standpoint of emotions. The last section will weave in on how it is important to conceptualise social identities in response to the role of families.

Social identities In this book, as underpins much of the discussion in the field of feminist geographies, it is important to see that gender is significant to understanding the experiences of families of prisoners. The principles of feminist geographies scholarship (Valentine, 2007; Sharp, 2009; Bowlby 2012; Laliberte and Schurr, 2016; Bowlby et al, 2020) identified that the discussion of gender contributes to solidifying the relationship between space, emotions, and time. This book echoes much of the testament that female relatives predominantly take on caring responsibilities, which has been evident in this study. Much of the discussions that have been shared in this book contribute to the prominent literature on families of prisoners that have identified the significance of gender in relation to the roles and responsibilities that interplay across the incarceration process –​and that female relatives are often adopting the role as the ‘carer’ (Comfort, 2008; 108

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Moran, 2015; Foster, 2017; Bartlett and Eriksson, 2019; Jardine, 2019; Kotova, 2019). However, it would be ignorant to not acknowledge that male relatives interviewed in this study –​for example, Ricardo and Aaron –​ were critical to contributing to ‘practices of care’ that resonated both in the prison and the home. Ricardo and Aaron faced challenges as sole carers, but it became evident that their positions as male carers were degraded by professional and other family members. This is exemplified by Ricardo’s testimonies on the discussions he had with social services and the stigma he faced in being a lone grandfather. Further to this, Aaron spoke about the continuous pressures he experienced with his wife’s parents and his children’s school. The performance of gender has been interspersed with multiple spaces, including the waiting room, the visiting room, and the home. Many families spoke about the importance of reunification with their loved ones in the visiting rooms and these moments were solidified by adopting gender roles that were presumed pre-​incarceration. The literature on families of prisoners (Moran and Disney, 2018; Bartlett and Eriksson, 2019; Foster, 2019a, 2019b) identified how prisoners and their relatives adopt family life that were prevalent to them pre-​incarceration. Similarly to Moran and Disney (2018), this book has analysed the importance of emotions surrounding ‘a sense of belonging’ that has been shaped by the artefacts and values in the prison visiting room. It can also be argued that designing prison visiting rooms to resemble public institutions like cafés (Moran and Disney, 2018) has enabled families to feel more empowered and comfortable in adopting gender roles with their loved ones that were presumed pre-​incarceration, due to the continuous reminders of being on the outside. Furthermore, many families and their loved ones can practice examples of care that are suited to their familial dynamics and that recreational activities like arts and crafts and book clubs present intimate spaces that have reaffirmed familial bonds between parents incarcerated and their children (Bartlett and Eriksson, 2019; Foster, 2019a, 2019b). This is reflected in the title of Chapter 3, the ‘Artificial Home Space’, but it is also important to not to get ahead of oneself in seeing all visiting rooms as a way forward to replace aspects of the home. Rather, it is argued that while a visiting room can create meaningful a space, the values that are situated in the prison are still reaffirming surveillance. This was strongly echoed by some of the families interviewed for this study, who felt infantilised or publicly exposed while sharing private moments in the visiting room, like Sophie, who did not want to bring her newborn into the visiting room. The discussion has also extended to analysing gender in response to caring practices beyond the prison and into the home. This book has adopted Bowlby’s (2012) concept of ‘doing care’ to understand the interconnections between gender, space, and social roles to understand how care has been affected by the incarceration process. 109

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‘Doing care’ has contributed to the arguments from Moran and Disney (2018) that the adopting of public and private spaces in the prison is fluid and that practices of care are shaped by the movement to and from the prison. The effects of incarceration shape family identities on how they manage responsibilities between their incarcerated loved ones and children in the home. Echoing existing scholarship (Comfort, 2008; Moran, 2012a; Turner, 2016; Foster, 2019a, 2019b) on the prison visiting room as a liminal space, the arguments presented in the book identified that liminality has shaped families’ identities in response to managing aspects of care. These liminal selves were predominant in families, adopting multiple roles to mediate between the goings-​on inside and outside of the prison. These multiple selves were also about how families shared information about their incarceration with the public as well as close relatives/​children. Many identified that they were taking on two identities –​the one that served a ‘purpose’ for their incarcerated relative and the other that was protecting the truth by keeping up a pretence to their relatives and friends. Therefore, a key contribution to the existing literature has been to theorise liminality as going beyond physical materialities by contributing the experiences of families in pursuing multiple identities. Gender and class has also been an important discussion in terms of understanding the economic and social political system that has been significantly affected by the political changes that have occurred during the neoliberal era (Hall, 2017; Murphy, 2017; Power and Hall, 2017; MacLeavy et al, 2021). These changes affected the ways families accessed resources to care for their loved ones and many experienced a sense of burden due to the cutbacks to public services. Many families’ identities were continuously shifting in response to the draconian rules and policies implemented by the prison and the state. One of the significant points that explored the shift in identities was the binary between roles and responsibilities –​grandparents felt the excessive pressure of adopting a multitude of roles to care for their loved ones, but there was little recognition by the state to legitimise their care. Consequently, grandparents like Ricardo and Muriel faced continuous challenges in accessing financial support with routine monitoring and scrupulous checks that led to feelings of inferiority and shame. These testaments echo much of the existing literature (Wacquant, 2001, 2009, 2012; Gilliom, 2009; Miller 2017) on the need to recognise that the sentiments of the prison are reflecting the command of the welfare state, and both institutions are merging as one. It is therefore important to extend the arguments identified by Miller (2017) that families are also entrapped in a carceral state due to the collateral impact of having a loved one incarcerated. In conclusion, the analysis of space, emotions, and social identities has contributed significantly to understanding the testimonies from families. The interconnection of all three has opened a new dialogue on exploring 110

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the consequences of the criminal justice system on vulnerable families. There were many arguments presented that highlight that the ‘system as a whole’ has pockets of good examples of services to support the families, but unfortunately there are many gaps that have trapped families in experiencing a sense of shame, humiliation, and fear. This book contributes to the ongoing dialogue that the prison is fluid, and these workings are interconnected to the outside environment. The examples can be presented from the architecture of the visiting room to social controls presented in the prison to the welfare state. The testimonies from families have created a platform to advocate for further dialogue on exploring the relationship between the individual and the state and to contextualise this in respect to the aftermath of incarceration. The next part of the chapter will be to revisit some of the critical policies that have shaped the experiences of families and then to recommend ways to move forward.

Where do we go from here? This book identified the wider implications of political changes that shaped the lives of families in responding to managing care for their loved ones in prison to the welfare state. There has been an in-​depth discussion on the relationship between political ethos and practices of care. Much of the discussion centred around the political implications that are due to the backlash in public services for vulnerable families and the level of access to support families in certain times of need like having a loved one incarcerated. Policies stem from the ideologies centred around the neoliberal era and what this means in respect to the most disadvantaged groups, in particular vulnerable women. Many of the conversations surround the social control processes that have been embedded in the prison and the welfare state and how both institutions have merged as one to implement draconian policies that have left families feeling in a state of vulnerability. Many families that I spoke to rely heavily on financial assistance including child benefits and Universal Credit, and this can also extend to pockets of money aided by the local authorities including financial assistance for informal carers. To move forward, there needs to be a restructuring of the political system wherein core principles are not based on ‘punitivism’ but forms of ‘care’, and in which the importance of advocating around individuals’ needs and implementing a firm distance from assessing individuals through risk assessments is prioritised. There has been some progress in the Scottish system to present more of a holistic approach, however, there are still restrictions in place that are evident in the prison system and the welfare state. In addition to this argument, there needs to be more awareness of the bureaucratic processes that families experience in terms of accessing financial assistance. Many families experience several hurdles to accessing monetary support, 111

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not only from the prison but also from the welfare system. For example, in this book, there were documents from families on accessing finance for travel assistance via the AVPU to housing benefits from the welfare state. The challenges are associated with the ‘paper pushing’ that families need to engage in to receive support. These administrative functions are not effective and in fact are pushing families away to only rely on informal networks like extended family members rather than seeking support they are entitled to access. There needs to be an empathetic approach to how families are considered regarding the receiving of funds. The message should be communicated that families have a right to this support as opposed to it being a privilege. These messages can only be effective if there was less scrutiny in the process and that families felt their voices were being heard rather than the need to continuously fill in paperwork. Another area to improve on has been the partnerships between government and charities. The role of voluntary organisation is significant to supporting families of prisoners and there have been many examples of local services in and out of prison to provide support. This includes managing visiting centres and providing helplines, and going beyond to setting up small charities in local areas to be the first point of call for families. Voluntary organisations have been the bedrock to make sure that families feel a sense of empowerment and agency. However, the partnership between the government and the voluntary sector can be unequal and organisations are often disenfranchised by cuts to funding and resources. The push back of finances to invest in the voluntary sector has led to organisations being commissioned on a short-​term basis and this has devastating implications on families regarding the level of consistency for support. The disparities that voluntary organisations can experience is significant when we are thinking about a whole system approach to improve the lives of families. There needs to be a stronger partnership between government and the third sector to make sure that organisations can deliver services on a long-​term plan and that there is a substantial number of resources in place to cater for families that are most in need. Lastly, children’s visits are an example of progress on working towards strengthening the relationships with prisoners and their families. In this, Scotland has a greater advantage in ensuring all prison visits are considered as a right and not a privilege, which has underpinned the UNCRC protocols on the treatment of children of incarcerated parents. However, it is important to make sure that access is consistent across all prisons and for prison visits to be readily available for families to attend without the additional pressures of rescheduling or cancelling. The visiting room has stood as a space that mediates the inside to the outside of the prison and it has been considered as an exceptional space. The resemblance to cafés/​college campus spaces has enabled families to experience a moment of escapism without feeling 112

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the pressures of being institutionalised. This has been a core focus of this book, to present positive ways of practising care between prisoners and their families. Therefore, it is important to advocate for more resources that enable all prisons to deliver children visits in such an extensive way in some of the prisons exemplified in this book. Overall, this book has created a platform for families by conceptualising their understanding of space, emotions, and social identities to contribute to the penal discourse on the effects of incarceration. Adopting ethnographic methods, this book has told a range of stories that have contributed to broader issues related to political changes to theorising issues on time, waiting, and immobility. All of these have been significant to draw forward the importance of putting together a story that empowers voices of families.

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References

Van Gennep, A. (1960) The Rites of Passage. London: Routledge. Wacquant, L. (2001) ‘The penalisation of poverty and the rise of neo-​ liberalism’, European Journal on Criminal Policy and Research 9(4), pp 401–​12. Wacquant, L. (2009) Punishing the Poor: The Neo-​liberal Government of Social Insecurity. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Wacquant, L. (2012) ‘The wedding of workfare and prisonfare in the 21st century’, Journal of Poverty 16(3), pp 236–​49. Wahidin, A. (2002) ‘Reconfiguring older bodies in the prison time machine’, Journal of Aging and Identity 7, pp 177–​93. Wahidin, A. (2006) ‘Time and the prison experience’, Sociological Research Online 11(1), pp 104–​113. Walker, A. (2014) ‘The new Jim Crow? Recovering the progressive origins of mass incarceration’, Hastings Constitutional Law Quarterly 41(4), pp 1–​29. Whitson, R. (2017) ‘Painting pictures of ourselves: researcher subjectivity in the practice of feminist reflexivity’, Professional Geographer 69(2), pp 299–​306. Woodall, J. and Freeman, C. (2021) ‘Developing health and wellbeing in prisons: an analysis of prison inspection reports in Scotland’, BMC Health Services and Research 21. https://​doi.org/​10.1186/​s12913-​021-​06337-​z Woodall, J. and Kinsella, K. (2018) ‘Striving for a “good” family visit: the facilitative role of a prison visitors’ centre’, Journal of Criminal Psychology 8(1), pp 33–​43. Woodall, J., Dixey, R., Green, J. and Newell, C. (2009) ‘Healthier prisons: the role of a prison visitors’ centre’, International Journal of Health Promotion & Education 47(1), pp 12–​18. Wright, M.W. (2010) ‘Geography and gender: feminism and a feeling of justice’, Progress in Human Geography 34(6), pp 818–​27. Young, B. and Turanovic, J.J. (2020) ‘Spatial distance as a barrier to visitation for incarcerated youth and why families overcome it’, Justice Quarterly. https://​doi.org/​10.1080/​07418825.2020.1770843

127

Index A

C

Abass, T.  7 access to visits  32 activism  activism intersectionality  24 and women  20, 23–​5, 90 activities  1, 9, 29, 32–​3, 85, 94–​5, 107 arts activities  10 Adams, M.  6, 7, 18, 24, 81, 92 affection, forms of  29 agency, sense of  91 Ahmed, S.  19, 100, 106 alcohol  83 Anderson, D.  68 Angules, A.  15 appeal process  85, 86–​7 architecture of prisons  4, 33–​7, 54 corridors  79 and surveillance  51–​5 Armstrong, S.  23, 69, 70 arson  36 artificial home life  29, 48, 105, 108 children’s visits  30–​3 Asian families  7, 82 Assisted Prison Visits Scheme  61–​2, 75, 112 asylum seekers  19, 68, 69 austerity and women  19–​21 autonomy, lack of  73, 76, 107 Auyero, J.  80

Cape Town  10 carceral citizenship  50, 67 carceral feminism  25–​7 carceral geography  8–​12 care  22, 27, 42, 90 activism of  23–​5 care work  15–​16, 20, 21–​3 caring practices  21–​3 caringscapes  23, 41–​8 ‘doing care’  38, 42, 44, 48, 109–​10 in residential homes  22 ‘timely care’  68 caring responsibilities  107, 108 for disabled children  45 and fathers in prison  39–​40 in the home  24 taken on by grandfather  43–​4 cells  58–​9 change, positive  88 charities  22, 39, 112 children  3, 6, 41 child benefits  21 childcare  13, 40, 59, 68, 70, 73, 74, 94 effects of incarcerated parent  47–​8 and food poverty  20 prison visits  30–​3 rights in Scotland  32 children’s visits  30, 31, 36, 112 Children’s Visits Policy  32, 104 choice, immobilising  73–​6 Christian. J.  7, 24, 76, 77, 95 citizenship, carceral  50, 67 Clemmer, D.  3 clothing  5, 57, 58, 79, 85 dress code  55–​6 collective feelings  19, 92, 100, 106 Collins, P.H.  24 Comfort, Megan  5, 9, 23, 55, 70 concealment of incarceration  41, 46, 82, 83, 88 Condry, R.  17, 81, 103 Cooper, C.  29 COPE scale  90 coping mechanisms  see surviving the incarceration process cost implications of travel  29, 76, 77 COVID-​19  1, 20, 33, 90 Crawley, E.M.  12, 39 Crewe, B.  12, 39, 108 criminalisation  19, 51 criminal justice system  103 criminology  8, 11, 15, 25 critical constructionist view  10

B backstage and frontstage  5, 12, 78 Baer, L.  50 bail  85 Bailey, D.J.S.  95 banks and marginalised groups  74 behaviour in the visiting room  55 belonging, sense of  22, 37–​41, 105 benefits  21, 111 and waiting  69 Bengtsson, T.  68 Bernstein, Elizabeth  26 Bissell, D.  76, 77, 78 Black people  7, 50, 60 American Communities  10 black women’s bodies  24 Southall Black Sisters  91 Blige S.  24 Bondi, L.  11, 18 Bowlby, S.  23, 37, 41, 42, 44, 45, 109 Braithwaite, J.  7, 100 Brexit  32 bureaucracy  61, 62, 67, 111

128

Index Critical Resistance  26 cultural shifts  6

D Davis, Angela  24 debt  75 decolonisation  7, 18 degradation  29, 52, 67, 84 deprivation  4, 75 financial  42 and imprisonment  6 despair  101 devolution  104 Dirsuweit, T.  11 disabled children  44–​5 disadvantaged areas  42 disempowerment  90, 101 disenfranchisement  17, 81, 82, 103 Disney, T.  22, 37, 38, 109, 110 displacement, sense of  78 diversity  6 ‘doing time’  68, 69, 71, 73, 106 domestic violence  24, 26 Dorrer, N.  28 dramaturgical theory  5 driving licence  57 drug addiction  78, 85

E economic insecurity  see financial insecurity educational activities  see activities electronic tag  84, 87 eligibility for support  61 emotions  4, 11–​12, 18–​19, 106–​8 of children with parents in prison  47–​8 collective feelings  19, 100 emotional zones in prison  39 feelings of violation  50 and visiting prisoners  31 in the visiting room  30 see also waiting employment, precarious  20, 21, 22, 60, 75 empowerment  24, 89, 98, 103, 107 England  30 Pakistani families in  7 escape  3, 33, 39 ethnography and performance  3–​8 European Convention on Human Rights  32, 104 exclusion  7, 19, 81, 83

F families  2, 6, 17, 19, 28, 30, 50, 95 and carceral geography  8–​12 family-​orientated spaces  35, 41, 48, 51, 79 and food banks  20–​1 lived experience of  10, 103, 108 social support  95–​8 and visiting in Scotland  32–​3

and waiting  70–​3 see also artificial home life; surviving the incarceration process Family Contact Officer  33, 40, 51, 56 Family Strategy 2017–​2022  104 Faria, C.  16 fear and anger  9, 60, 63, 67, 84, 108 fear and uncertainty  1, 7 females  see women femininity  37 feminism  24–​5 anti-​carceral feminism  25–​7 feminist criminology  11 feminist geography  8, 11–​12, 16–​21, 88, 90 filling in forms  see bureaucracy financial insecurity  18, 74, 75 financial support  49, 96, 111 fishing towns  4 Folkman, S.  89 food  eating together in prison  37–​8 food banks  20–​1 food insecurity  20 formal support  59, 95, 97, 98, 106, 108 Foster, R.  9, 22, 69, 70, 104 Fraser, Nancy  21, 24 free school meals  20 friends  46, 73, 90, 91, 95, 96, 107 frontstage and backstage  5, 12, 78 funding  29, 31, 48 funeral, attendance at  73 furniture, prison  2, 34, 35, 51

G G4S  29 gender  7, 10, 15, 42, 92, 108–​9 fluidity of  12 gender-​related harms  25 gender specific roles  48 and prison  11 and the welfare state  60 Getting It Right for Every Child  31 Gilliom, J.  10, 60 Glasgow 218 project  104 glass screens  36 Global South perspective  7 Goffman, I.  5, 50 grandparents  7, 32, 59, 66, 67, 90, 110 grandfathers  39, 43, 52, 64–​5, 109 grandmothers  36, 53 grief  101

H Hage, G.  73–​4, 76, 80 Hall, S.M.  17 harms  21, 26, 70 health and well-​being  29, 31 and immobility  75

129

Prisoners’ Families, Emotions and Space Henwood, K.  68 heterosexual relationships  6, 8 HIV-​prevention programme  5 HMP Farnleigh  55, 84 HMP Grendon  29 HMP Shawshank  2, 31, 34, 51, 54, 79, 85 HMP Teddington  38, 55, 80 HMP Toluca  35, 40, 51, 80 Hochschild, A.R.  11 holistic perspectives  15, 24, 111 Holmes, H.  91 home life, recreating  see artificial home life hoodies  55 hopeful waiting  84–​8, 106 Hopkins, P.  16 Houchin, R.  6 housing benefit  64 housing needs  65–​6 human geography  8, 15 human rights  6, 17, 31, 32, 79, 104, 112 humiliation  29, 67, 106, 111

I identity  3, 5, 10–​11, 108–​11 and caring practices  42 family identities  110 gendered identities  11 shifting identities  10 social markers  7, 10, 15, 27 immigration detention centres  19 immobilised, being  70–​6, 79, 82, 101 imprisonment rates  6 INCITE !  26 inclusion  32 Indigenous communities  7 individuality and responsibility  11, 49 inequalities  6, 15, 24, 26, 42, 60, 90, 105 health  31 informal support networks  13, 21, 95–​6, 98, 104–​5 institutional spaces  2, 19 institutional care  22 interconnecting space  9 intergenerational issue of prisons  36 intersectional approach  15, 24, 26 Iraq War  92 isolation  83

J Japanese families  7 Jardine, C.  7 Jewkes, Y.  39 judgement  21, 55 Jupp, E.  24

K Keinan, A.  10 Kim, M.E.  26

Kita, M.  7 Klien, J.L.  95 Kotova, A.  68, 69, 82, 93

L Laliberte, N.  19 Lapp, C.  92 Lash, S.  12 Latino people  10 Laws, B.  12, 39, 108 Lazurus, R.  89 Lefebvre, H.  8, 105 lesbian relationships  11 letters  58 LGBT+​ families  7 life transitions/​events  68, 71 liminal identities  42 liminal space  8–​9, 21, 22, 30, 84, 110

M MacLeavy, J.  25 male prisoners  see men marginalised groups  68 masculinity  10, 12, 37 Matthews, B.  6 McCarthy, D.  6, 7, 18, 24, 81, 92 McVie, S.  6 media  82 depictions of families and prisoners  19 memories, sharing  37 men  12, 39, 43 and care responsibilities  109 and emotions in prison  12 fathers in prison  10, 38, 39–​40 male prisoners  5, 7, 12, 29 young men  10–​11, 82 mental health  26 methodology  18 migration  24 Miller, R.  50, 60, 67, 110 minority ethnic people  6, 7, 16, 26, 92 Mollet, S.  16 money  74, 79, 111 moral compass  55 Moran, D.  10, 22, 23, 37, 38, 49, 109, 110 Morris, Pauline  6 murder  83

N National Parenting Strategy  31 neoliberalism  11, 19, 49, 75, 82, 110 and inequalities  17 newborn child  57, 97, 101, 109 newly built prisons  34, 51

O open visits  30 oppression  8, 10, 16, 18, 88, 90 institutional oppression  24

130

Index otherness  9, 81 outsourcing  19

P Pakistani people  7 pandemic  1, 20, 33, 61, 90 Pardy, M.  81, 83 parenting  6 racial dimensions of  7 see also children passports  57 patchwork quilt  9 patriarchy  10 penal and welfare state, merging of the  49–​51, 67, 110 Pentonville  34 performance and ethnography  3–​8 performance in prisons  12 personal information  57, 62 personal items  79 personal responsibility  see individuality and responsibility photographs  58, 59 physical contact  36 Piacentini, L.  53 play  2, 3, 31, 38, 39, 48 police  43 politics  and neoliberalism  49 political and structural inequalities  16, 18, 103 political change  17, 111 political detainees  95 in Scotland and England  18 poverty  4, 20, 24, 60 ‘punishing the poor’  50 and waiting  69 and welfare bureaucracy  80 power dynamics  10, 17, 18, 23, 41, 60 and emotions  11 institutional power  69 and lesbian relationships  11 and space  8, 16, 105 pregnancy  68 prison officers/​staff  2, 12, 16, 80, 93 hostility of the  17, 52, 55 in private prisons  29 turnover rate of  33, 56 view of the  35 working conditions of  54 prisons  3 and domestic violence  26 and emotions  12 entering  5–​8 physical embodiment of  33–​7 Prison Act 1939  34 privatised prisons  29 see also architecture of prisons; visiting room

prison visits  4 cancellation of  1, 33 quality of  5 right or privilege  6, 18, 31 privacy, violation of  57–​8 public cutbacks  19, 20, 21, 49, 60, 90, 110, 111, 112

Q queuing  78, 79–​81

R Rabaia, Y.  95 race  10, 17, 18, 26, 92, 103 and parenting  7 Ravenberg, B.  50 recreational activities  1, 9, 10, 29, 32–​3, 85, 109 ‘keeping busy’  94–​5 reflective practices  18 refugees  68 regulated spaces  49–​51 relationships  7, 8, 43, 104 heterosexual  6 lesbian relationships  11 maintaining  13, 75 researcher-​participant relationships  19, 107 strained relationships  95 release from prison  50, 53, 99 religion  92, 107 remand, on  13, 30, 56, 84, 98–​9 reoffending  6 reproductive rights  20 researcher-​participant relationships  19, 107 residential homes  28 care in  22 resilience  25, 89–​91, 98, 107 see also surviving the incarceration process responsibilities, additional  71–​2, 74 rights  of prisoners and families  6, 104 right to family life  17, 32, 104 right to support  112 risk assessments  64–​5, 111 rites of passage  9 roles  5, 48, 53, 105 adopting gender roles  109 of prisoners  10, 28 rules and regulations  22, 28, 49 during COVID-​19  1

S safe space  3, 104 same-​sex relationships  6, 8, 11 Scharff-​Smith, P.  17 schools  60, 62–​3, 83, 109 distrust of  97 Schurr, C.  19

131

Prisoners’ Families, Emotions and Space Schwartz, B.  80 Scotland  2, 4, 6, 19, 30, 111, 112 health promotion in prisons  31 and human rights  6, 32 political ideologies in  103–​4 progressive stance on visits  18 Scottish Prison Service  31, 33 security, sense of  96 security checks  49, 55–​8, 79 searching of visitors  3, 13, 56, 80 selves  multiple selves  48, 110 real selves  5, 39 sentencing  84–​5, 99 harsher sentencing  26 waiting for  13 sex offenders  9, 38, 44, 65, 95 sexual violence  24 shame  19, 21, 29, 51, 52, 95, 106, 111 cultural shaming  7 secondary shame  81 shameful waiting  81–​4 Sharp, J.  19 Shirani, F.  68 siblings  7 single-​parent families  21, 60 slavery  50 social class  7, 10, 17, 26, 42, 103, 110 and waiting  68 social control  13, 29, 60, 68, 88, 105–​6 social distancing  1, 33 social identities  see identity social isolation  95 social justice  3, 16, 17, 90, 91, 103, 107 social markers  see identity social services  50, 51, 59, 60, 67 distrust of  97 social support  91, 95–​8 social workers  16, 65, 68 space  8–​10, 105–​6 concept of  16 family-​orientated spaces  30 regulated spaces  49–​51 space and time  2, 23, 48, 89 spaces of care  28, 41 and surveillance  55–​9 and waiting  69 state violence and women  25 stigmatisation  55, 82, 98, 109 street life and prison  10–​11 stuck  see immobilised, being suicide  26 support mechanisms  see surviving the incarceration process surveillance  13, 21, 29, 50, 51–​5, 109 of clothing  55 and space  55–​9 temporary  23 and welfare  60–​7

surviving the incarceration process  107 coping mechanisms  13, 91, 101, 106 hope for the future  98–​101 ‘keeping busy’  89–​91 social support  95–​8 Sykes, G.  3

T Taylor, P.  29 telephone calls  13, 87 Terwiel, A.  26 Thatcherite policies, backlash of  4 therapeutic initiatives  29 time  102, 106 time and space  8, 16, 23, 68, 90 towns, small  19 traditional heteronormative roles  48, 52 trafficking  26 training  29 transfers, prison  78, 80, 85 trans women  11 travelling to prisons  13, 29, 61–​2, 75–​9, 112 Turanovic, J.  95 Turner, J.  9 Turney, K.  20

U unemployment  60 uniforms  34 United Nations Convention of the Rights of the Child 1985  6, 17, 31–​2, 112 Universal Credit  21, 111 Urry, J.  12

V Valentine, G.  16 values and norms  5, 39 in prison  3–​4 Van Blerk, L.  10 Van Gennep, A.  9 vending machines  2, 3 Victoria and Albert Museum  9 Victorian buildings  34, 51, 54 video technology  1, 33 violation, feelings of  50, 58 violence  24, 25, 26, 83 visiting room  1, 34, 105, 108, 112 architectural layout  35, 51, 105 as artificial home space  28–​30, 49–​50, 109 eating together in prison  37–​8 impressions of  2 as liminal space  8, 9 and relationships  13 and surveillance  55–​7 and voluntary organisations  22 and waiting  77–​80

132

Index voluntary organisations  22, 31, 32, 39 and government  112 volunteering  2, 5 vulnerable people  17, 49, 60, 68, 103, 111 ‘confinement of the poor’  50 and food banks  21 and shaming  82 and the SPS  31 vulnerable prisoners  38 and women  26

W Wacquant, L.  10–​11, 50 waiting  13, 15, 23, 55, 78, 90, 106 hopeful waiting  84–​8 queuing  79–​81 shameful waiting  81–​4 spatialities of  68–​73 travelling to prisons  76–​9 waiting room  77–​8

wedding dress  59 welfare  and waiting  69 welfare agencies  13, 23, 60, 61, 63–​4 welfare and surveillance  49, 59, 60–​7 welfare systems  49, 51, 60 Western perspectives in academia  7 White people  3, 6, 16 women  18, 26, 42, 53, 76, 108, 111 and activism  23–​5, 90 Asian and Black mothers  7 assuming paternal roles  42 and caring roles  13, 96 experiences of women  15–​16 and resilience  25 rights of  19–​20 and waiting  68, 70 Woodall, J.  31 Wright, M.W.  107

133

“This is an exciting, original, and nuanced exploration of the spatial and emotional experiences of families of people in prison. It explores the subject matter in great depth and with sensitivity and scholarly rigour.” Anna Kotova, University of Birmingham

In this ethnographic study Maria Adams turns a geographical and feminist lens on prisoners’ families.   She captures the testimonies of families as they navigate the social challenges of the imprisonment of loved ones, exploring key concepts including inequality, penal power, and vulnerability.  She also measures the impacts on many aspects of families’ emotions, relationships, and identities, and considers the sources of support and resilience they draw on. With original research and fresh insights, the book deepens our understanding of carceral geography and how families experience spaces, both inside prison and beyond the bars.

Maria Adams is Senior Lecturer in Criminology at the University of Surrey.

ISBN 978-1-4473-5812-1

@policypress @policypress PolicyPress policy.bristoluniversitypress.co.uk

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